


From the Depths of the Void

by kawakaeguri



Series: Liviana Cat Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Both Hawke siblings are alive, Comic: Dragon Age: The Silent Grove, Comic: Dragon Age: Those Who Speak, Comic: Dragon Age: Until We Sleep, Dark, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forever Burn, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Nothing too explicit or graphic, Personal Growth, Redemption, Slavery, Slow Burn, Smut, Vague descriptions of rape and torture, because fuck you bioware, in Chapter 33, mention of sexual slavery, now with art!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-09-12 15:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 78
Words: 259,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16875480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawakaeguri/pseuds/kawakaeguri
Summary: She barely remembers her childhood in Ostwick, but that has long ceased to matter. Liviana is a slave, bound to the Ludus Atropos of the mighty Tevinter Imperium, and that is her lot in life. And for the most part, it is a relatively comfortable life and she is content, having sold her conscience and soul years ago in order to survive.Until her friend takes an unimaginable risk and fights back against the ties that have bound them, and Liviana is forced to choose between freedom and death, or worse. She decides to run, but everything is so new and the world is suddenly so very lonely and large. What's a former slave to do with her life now that she is free? And why the hell is she agreeing to stay in Kirkwall? Surrounded by the taint of blood magic and finding herself in the company ofmages, of all things, Liviana struggles to discover what it means to live.And maybe, even how to love.Spans DA2 and DAI.





	1. Ascension of the Archon

**9:29, Parvulis 23**

The only hint that she was not a statue made of stone laid in the faint pulse in her slender throat, the skin flickering steadily with each heartbeat. Alone she stood in the spartan antechamber, torchlight dancing on sandstone walls, eyes closed, hair the color of obsidian braided in a tight crown atop her head. Ebony and crimson embossed leather armor covered her slight body, leaving only her toned upper arms and thighs bared.

Her mind was clear, devoid of all emotions, a pulsing flame in her subconscious burning through all of her fear, anxiety, and loathing. It was a ritual she was all too familiar with, the drag of dusty air through her throat with each inhale dry and grating. She barely noticed. Her only thoughts were of her lungs, feeling them expand and deflate as she concentrated on her center. Awareness trickled down the length of her limbs, feeling each muscle and nerve, loose and ready. A finger twitched as the roar of the waiting crowd reached her even here, in this subterranean room.

Sandaled footsteps approached her from behind, the leather rasping against the sandy floor. “You’re next.”

Eyes the color of a thundercloud snapped opened. Her gaze was intently focused on the heavy door ahead of her. “I am ready.”

“You will bring honor to Ludus Atropos today.” He didn’t have to voice the ‘or else’. The unspoken words hung around her like a noose.

“Of course, Doctore.” Silently, ever the obedient slave, she followed the hulking, scarred man out of the antechamber, the hum of the masses growing louder until their screams were right upon her. Her eyes calmly stared through the iron bars towards the open arena, barely seeing the sand that was already liberally streaked with blood from the previous fights of the day. Calloused hands rested easily on her sword hilts.

A rich voice boomed out over the Imperial Proving Grounds, “For our next fight we have the warrior Ignatus, a retiarius wielding from Ludus Orcus! Opposing him is the reigning champion, Liviana, the dimachaerus! We last saw her dominate the arena at the last Wintersend spectacle, prevailing over the Gavius twins. Will she come out victorious today? Or will Ignatus reign supreme? Ladies and gentlemen, in the name of new Archon, glory to His Imperial Dominus Radonis, let the battle begin!”

Gripping the dual swords that labeled her dimachaerus, Liviana swung them free of her scabbards as the iron gate rose and stepped out into the view of the crowd, one foot planted firmly in front of the other. Their voices swelled around her as she paused in the center of the arena, watching with an almost casual air the other man approached. He was leanly built, her head coming to about his shoulders, long muscles bulging against his leather armor. A weighted net was wrapped around one of his hands, a wickedly sharp trident in his other. Leering at her, he raised his arms, reveling in the cheers of the watching masses, roaring his strength and prowess to the skies. He was cocky and arrogant. She smirked. He was the same as all the others.

Her showmanship was not of the flashy sort. Her skills would speak for themselves this day. “Are you done?” she asked in a bored tone, lazily twirling her swords at her side as the magic overlaid in the arena amplified their voices.

“So eager to taste the dirt, Liviana?” he jeered to the delight of the crowds. “You’ve grown complacent, sitting high atop your pedestal.”

“Just tired of hearing you talk,” she sighed dramatically. “Did you practice that one in front of your mirror? Primping and prancing around like a dandy?” Her hands motioned to his perfectly coiffed hair with disdain.

He snarled at her as the crowds laughed at him. “I just wanted to look my best when I stand over your defeated, broken body.”

“I’d love to see you try.” The clang of a gong rang out through the air, a signal that the end of their banter had come. At once, his arm hefted his net over his head, his body thrown into the momentum, the ropes whistling through the air as it spun in a tight circle. Liviana smiled to herself. She knew plenty of Ignatus. Arrogant, proud, prone to a great, blazing temper; it would take just a little more to push him over the edge. “Do you even know how to use that?” she scoffed, agilely rolling out of his path and neatly springing back to her feet. The net landed harmlessly at her side. “Or did you just decide to become a retiarius because all the other real classes were taken?”

With a growl, he swung his trident in one hand, snatched the net back up in the air and lunged. The crash of steel slamming into steel echoed through the arena, the shock reverberating down her arm. He was strong and sure, but she was fierce and fast. Whirling away, she spun in a violent whirlwind of death, her blades ducking and slicing wherever they managed to land, each on their mark. She was the eye of the storm, and he was helpless against her.

On and on it went, Liviana dodging his throws, twisting the ropes around her swords, meeting him strike for strike, working him and the crowd into a frenzy that screamed for blood. One final throw was miscalculated, and the soft whisper of hemp sliding against metal could be heard in every corner of the stadium. The crowd fell silent as the net fell to Ignatus’ feet in pieces. It was then he saw it in her eyes. This fight had been over the moment he stepped into the arena; this slight, young warrior had just been toying with him. His blood burned.

“You _little_ -” Ignatus launched himself at her, the sharp tips of the trident aimed at her stomach. _Finally_. Ducking his first few parries, Liviana wedged a sword in between the prongs on his last thrust, grunting as she used the blade as a lever, twisting the trident free of his grasp. Heaving it behind her, she heard it clatter to the ground as the bloodlust of the crowd grew to an almost painful crescendo. Ignatus brandished his only weapon left, a small, paltry dagger he held with false bravado.

“Really?” she sighed. Two swipes was all it took, and the dagger lay useless in the sand behind him. Jerking her body around, her leg collided with the back of his knee, a boot firmly planting into the small of his back, and with the barest amount of force, she shoved him into the ground with a muffled thud. “How’s that dirt taste, Ignatus?” Liviana cooed, driving her swords into the ground in an X above his neck. “Yield?”

It took him a few seconds to find his voice. “Yield,” he spat. Swiveling her head upwards, her eyes found the Archon’s box, and the man who sat in the center throne, swathed in dark purple and black robes that draped elegantly around his tall body. She waited. The Archon’s arm rose, and swiped down. Inclining her head, Liviana pulled her swords back, ignoring the gush of blood that flooded the sand beneath her feet. Another dead. It mattered not to her.

“Our winner, Liviana of Ludus Atropos of Vyrantium! Could she be the one to take it all? Only time will tell!” Her body bent in a grand, sweeping bow towards the crowds whose adoring shouts followed her as she exited the arena, full lips curved in a jubilant smile.

“Good job,” the Doctore nodded. “Just do that every day for the next week, and we’ll have this.” There were six more fights before the final match for the games that marked Archon Radonis’ ascension to the highest seat in the Tevinter Imperium. As long as she kept winning, she would move on to the next bracket. As long as she kept winning, she would live. 

***

Liviana sighed loudly at the prone woman at her feet, her curved sword some several feet behind her, her shield cleaved in two. “You’re supposed to be one of the best. Is this all you have to offer me?” she shouted up at the crowds. “I signed up to battle warriors, not rattus.” The next few fights had passed in a blur. Too easy, too fast; she had to resort to taunts, playing with her opponents like a cat with its food in order to give the spectators the show they craved. Allowing them to get hits in, tricking them into thinking they were winning, that they had found an edge against her- before crushing their spirits and bodies beneath her boot. It was almost painful for her. “Yield?”

“Yield,” a hoarse voice muttered to the elation of the crowd. Another gesture from the Archon, and the woman was spared. Liviana offered a hand, and pulled the stunned warrior to her feet. There was no rhyme or reason to whom the Archon decided to let live.

“It seems she has done it again! But who is surprised? In three days hence, Liviana shall take to the Proving Grounds one final time, in an epic showdown with one other champion! Who will it be? Basilius the laquearius or Sophronius the hoplomachus?”

The cool shade of the tunnels that ran beneath the arena brought a welcome relief to her sweaty skin, a gentle breeze ruffling the tendrils of hair that had slipped from her bun. Bricius frowned at her. “You let her get in a few good hits.”

Liviana shrugged. “It would have been over too quickly if I hadn’t, Doctore.”

The large man howled with laughter at that, clapping her squarely on the back. “That’s my girl.” Her answering smile did not reach her eyes. It never did, but he did not care. “Go get cleaned up and rest,” he chuckled, his tone almost friendly. With a small bow, she exited the room, heading deeper underground to where her chambers lay.

Another one of the Ludus slaves appeared at her side, taking her armor as she peeled the pieces off, and scurried off to clean the leather. Everything had to be perfect for the last spectacle, down to the last lace.

“You did well, I heard,” an elven woman called out.

“Well enough,” Liviana agreed. “One more fight, and I can rest for a little while before the next tournament. Ah, Decima, that hurts!”

Decima clucked her tongue, offering no quarter as she scrubbed a particularly nasty gash clean and held out a cloth so Liviana could stem the blood that still oozed. With two fingers, she scooped up salve from a earthenware pot and rubbed it into a few scattered bruises before pulling out a needle and thread. “Oh hush, you. Stop being a baby. Do you know who you’re facing next?”

“Either Basilius or Sophronius, a hoplomachus. I fought Basilius last year. He’s good, but that lasso of his is too similar to Ignatus’ style, and that’s already been done. Sophronius is more likely. His sword and shield combined with the light armor of his class would be better entertainment, pitted against my blades,” Liviana mused.

“It would be better entertainment, provided the crowds can follow your movements. There have been complaints you move too fast to see.”

The gladiator snorted. “If I wasn’t, I’d be dead, and I’m not too keen on that idea.”

“Neither am I. I’ve grown surprisingly fond of your smart mouth,” Decima smirked. “I would be quite cross with you if you died now.”

“I’ll do my best.”

***

The wind whipped the few loose strands that escaped her braid around her solemn face, kicking up a tiny whirlwind of sand around her bare legs. Sunlight glinted into her eyes, bouncing off his metal bracers and shield, both held loosely in his right hand. The butt of a tall spear rested against the ground to his left. Sophronius. His name meant self control. She doubted it would be easy to taunt him into a rage like she had done with a few of the others. The prettiest eyes, the same color of the midday sky studied her sedately.

“Liviana.”

“Sophronius.”

A hush fell over the Proving Grounds as the crowd waited with bated breath, watching as the two strongest gladiators that had graced the games in a century stared each other down. Bricius’ last words rang in her ears. “He’s a mage. Ice is his specialty. Beware.”

Mage. She hated mages. They always thought themselves better than her, not to mention the magisters themselves. They acted as if they were gods, made to rule over the lesser mortals, divvying out life and death on a whim solely by virtue of their connection to the Fade. She would enjoy his death.

“No words of wisdom for me?” his deep voice asked, the trace of a smile on his lips.

“None that you would heed,” Liviana shrugged carelessly. “Fools rarely do.”

“You assume that I am a fool, then?”

“I assume nothing.” He grinned at her, a scar running across one cheek pulling his smile into a snarl.

“I shall enjoy this. It’s rare that I have an opponent as lovely as you.” The gong reverberated through her chest, her fingers adjusting themselves on her wrapped hilts.

“I’m glad for you, that your last sight will at least be a pretty face,” she smirked, spinning away as she felt him pull the Fade in. Thousands of tiny snowflakes exploded above her head, swirling around her as she crouched, waiting. _There_. Ice erupted beneath her feet, barely missing her as she vaulted backwards, somersaulting through the air. Her swords flew around her, her legs propelling her forward to block his spear, grunting as his small shield bashed into her shoulder. Shaking the pain out of her joints, she narrowed her eyes at him. _He’s toying with me. I bet he’s right handed._ So the shield was what she needed to watch.

Armed with this new knowledge, it was now easier for her to dodge his weaker thrusts, all of her focus on the small, round shield he brandished like a battering ram. He hissed as the edge of a sword sliced into his bicep even as his grip on the shield tightened. Solid metal collided with the side of her head. Blinking back stars, she stumbled back a few steps, wincing as she tripped over a sudden wall of ice, ankle twisting as she fell to the ground, her foot frozen to the ground. Warily, she watched Sophronius approach her like a panther stalking his kill. “Finished already, my dear?”

“Just admiring your ass. It’s nice. A bit pale though. Some time in the sun would do it wonders.”

He grinned lazily at her, watching without concern as she smashed the ice with the hilt of a sword and scrambled back to her feet. “I’ll let you kiss it when we’re done.”

“I’d rather not catch anything, but thanks for the offer.” 

Her swords arced over each other, one blocked by his spear up high and the other by a shield down low. _Whirl, strike, block._ Again and again. Muscles grew fatigued and sweat blinded their eyes. Hours passed. Maybe this pairing wasn’t such a good idea, some in the crowds murmured. They were too equally matched, his slightly greater strength and magic tempered by her bit of extra speed and agility. No, the others argued. Soon, one would tire. And then, they would have their victor. 

Sophronius swore as the golden glare from the setting sun rebounded off her blades at the perfect angle, momentarily blinding him. For a moment was all she needed. Leaping forward, one sword lashed out just after the other, a razorsharp edge slicing through the skin just above his elbow, the other blade swiping his shield out of his reach, leather wrapped steel skittering across the sand.

“Is this how it is to be? I thought we were getting along so well,” he sighed, hefting his spear in his undamaged hand. He hid his pain well, she noted. They all did.

“Sadly, I don’t play well with others.” The flat of a blade smacked against the wooden shaft as he advanced, his jabs precise and controlled even through his exhaustion. A breeze from the spear whipped by her head as she arched backwards, the tip just grazing the tip of her nose. Jerking herself upright, his fist in the side of her jaw caught her offguard. Down she went, grunting as she hit the ground, closing her eyes to protect them from the grains of sand that flew through the air. The tip of his spear nudged her against her neck.

“Yield.”

She opened one eye. “Not a chance.” Faster than lightning, her hands lashed out, grabbing the shaft just below the tip, and shoved it to the side, the edge slicing her cheek open as it embedded itself into the ground next to her head. Long legs wrapped around his knees, twisting the man down backwards. With a growl, she rolled over on top of him. His fingers scrabbled for a spear that was mere inches away, but just out of reach. A sharp blade pressed against his neck, her blood splattering against his face, dripping into his eyes. “Yield.”

Sky blue eyes stared into her darkened depths, both of them panting with fatigue and the fading remnants of their adrenaline. She felt him reach for his mana, then falter. Magic was not allowed in such close quartered combat like they found the themselves in now, only physical skill. To cast now would mean disgrace.

“Yield,” he agreed, surprisingly amiable. With the sword still held to the thin skin that covered his veins, both of them flicked her gaze towards the Archon’s box. Not a soul stirred within the Imperial Proving Grounds, waiting for his judgement.

Radonis considered the two bloodied warriors with a critical, yet bored eye. His hand raised, and the crowd cheered. “Lucky you,” Liviana murmured, helping the man to his feet.

Sophronius shrugged. “I’m too pretty to kill. His wife and nephew like me too much.”

She snorted, eyes rolling heavenward, then turned to face the Archon, her spine straight and proud.

“Lords and ladies of the Magisterium! Esteemed citizens! I present to you, the Victorem of the Festum Corona! Liviana, of Ludus Atropos!”

Liviana let herself bask in the adoration of the crowd, hands held high as she slowly swiveled in place, a feral, bloody grin across her elegant features. Tonight, and for a span of weeks, she would be hailed across the country as the fierce goddess of war she had proven herself to be. Toasts would be made in her name, favors would be begged of her, jewels and silks would be showered over her body.

And yet, she was dead on the inside. None of it mattered. For when the dawn rose again, she would still be a slave.

Born as Evelyn Catalina Trevelyan, a cherished noble daughter, and now reduced to Liviana, gladiator and property of Ludus Atropos. Not one soul cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is taken largely from a one shot I wrote for Phoenix of Minrathous. While Liviana's situation is similar to Aerin's, their stories are very different. Hope you enjoy!


	2. Rememberance

**9:32 Nubulis 4**

“Via, pass me the whetstone. Oy! Hello? Cat! Madame Liviana, are you listening?”

“Mm? Oh, sorry.” Liviana passed the stone that she had just finished using to Calliope, one of the elven gladiators in the ludus, and the only person in the world she called friend. Calliope was also the only person who ever called her by her former name, insisting that it was necessary for some reason the elf refused to disclose. The girls had been sold to the gladiator school at the same time, and had trained together, bled together, and kept each other alive.

“Daydreaming again?” Calliope teased. “Maybe about that pretty magister from last night?”

Liviana snorted. “You mean the one who bragged for over an hour about his prowess in bed? He could barely tell one end of his dick from the other. Plus, he threw up on me then pissed himself after he passed out. Gods, I hope I’m never given to him again. Although, in retrospect, I suppose spending my night cleaning wine-soaked vomit off myself was still better than some evenings I’ve had.” A dark shadow flitted behind her eyes. 

“Could always be worse,” her friend agreed. It was their mantra. “Speaking of worse, how was Qarinus? Anything interesting happen?”

“Does anything interesting ever happen in Qarinus?” Her voice was wry. Throwing her braid over one shoulder, Liviana paused as a thought came to her. “There was this one boy. An altus. His father bought me for his name day. As soon as I disrobed in his chamber, I swear, I’ve never heard a lad shriek like that.” She giggled at the memory. “He wasn’t very interested in what I had to offer, to say the least. Nor did he want to upset his father. So he spent the night showing me maps and telling me stories. It was… nice.”

“Sounds like it. I wish that would happen to me one day.”

The young women sat together on the dusty floor, legs sprawled out amidst a pile of weapons and bits of armor and tools meant for repair. Eyeing the patch she had sewn onto her leather tassets, Liviana bit off the length of twine. “Good enough for now, I suppose. I’m just so ready for all the fuss over me to die down. Again. I miss spending all my days training, and my nights alone in my own bed. I hate this part of winning. Almost makes me wish I hadn’t won.” Grabbing a pair of pliers, she viciously attacked the rivets that attached her tassets to the cuirass, prying off the damaged panels as if it were entirely her armor's fault. Then again, it was because she was victorious so often that she was allowed so much latitude with her time these days. As far as life for a slave went, she had it good and the dominus made sure she knew it. 

“I know,” Calliope soothed. “At least these celebrations won’t last as long as they did after the Archon’s ascension. Remember that? Months of parties and favors to be bought. There’s only a few more days left now, right? Then life can go back to normal. Hey! I know what you need.” Springing up from the floor, the elf pranced over to the weapons rack in the corner and selected two weighty staves a few heads taller than them both. “Fancy a spar, Victorem?”

“Only if you don’t complain when you’re scraping sand out of your teeth for the next week,” Liviana grinned. 

“That was one time! Now hurry up!”

Catching the quarterstaff that Calliope tossed her way, Liviana yelped as leapt through the door out into the training yard, narrowly missing the swipe that was directed at her rear. “I’m going, I’m going!”

“So dramatic,” Calliope sighed. “Oh, hey. New shipment is in.” Both girls stopped and turned towards the front gate, watching as a wagon rolled into the courtyard. A cage with thick iron bars rested in the back of the wagon, filled with several elves and a few humans. New slaves, for the ludus. The ones who would become gladiators were easy to pick out, their bodies more full and frames sturdy than the others who appeared as if a stiff breeze would blow them straight to Seheron. Those would become part of the household, cleaning, cooking, tending to the gladiators, and doing the lowest of the work. Liviana noted with more than a little anger the two little children that clung together as the guards dragged them out of the cage and threw them on the ground. They had to be only about four or five years old. Not much younger than she was when she had arrived.

Averting her eyes as she saw one of the guards raise a whip, Liviana spun back around to face the yard. “Come on. Let’s spar.” No sense in watching the new arrivals anymore, or feeling pity for them. They would learn, or they would be punished, same as the rest of them.

Training helped to clear her mind. The movements familiar, the sounds almost soothing. This was a dance she was intimately acquainted with, something with which she excelled. The solid clack of wood cracking against wood rapped out in short pulses as the two warriors pressed each other, looking for openings that would give them an advantage. They knew each other’s tactics well, had long since memorized their respective weaknesses.

“You’re dropping your left shoulder a bit too low again,” Liviana grunted as the side of a staff whacked against her side. “Not a lot, just enough for me to-”

Darting in closer, the human brought the tip of her staff up and jammed it through the space between Calliope’s arm and staff, and twisted. Calliope cursed as the length of wood went sailing through the air and clattered to the ground. “Fuck you.”

“Sore loser.” 

Calliope stuck her tongue out at her friend. “I hate quarterstaves anyways. They’re so bulky and awkward.”

“You’re the one who picked them, you know,” Liviana rolled her eyes.

“Figured we should practice with them, or some shit. It’s been awhile. Whoops, dinner bell!” Shaking her head at her friend's antics, Liviana grabbed the discarded staves and carried them back to the armory.

Meals were always a bit more solemn affair. They were held in a room just off of the kitchens inside the main house, at the other end of the training grounds, far away from the dust and shouts. The dominus didn’t appreciate noise or distraction during his evenings, so everyone remained quiet, speaking in only hushed whispers when absolutely necessary.

Sprinting back to their rooms to scrub off the dirt and sweat that had accumulated on their skin, the girls quickly shimmied out of their training armor and threw on clean shifts, Calliope dragging a comb through her flaxen blonde curls while Liviana just replaited hers into a neat braid. The dominus also was adamant that his house remain clean and that his gladiators would appear well groomed when at the table. It was one of the sole traits of their lord that Liviana appreciated, for some of the men smelled awful after spending a full day sparring out in the heat of the sun.

The meal was simple as usual, just a few slices of plain, roasted meat with boiled, unseasoned vegetables, but at least the bread was hot and crusty and the wine was of good quality, watered down as it was. And the gladiators were always given seconds if they desired; none of the dominus’ most precious assets ever went to bed hungry unless they had offended someone more important than they. 

Tearing off another hunk of bread, Liviana had just stuffed a piece in her mouth when she felt a tap on her shoulder. One of the houseslaves stood at her back. “The dominus wants to see you, Liviana.”

Nodding, Liviana immediately rose to her feet, patting her braid to double check that she looked neat and presentable. It wouldn’t do to see her master looking even the slightest bit disheveled, something she had found out long ago the hard way. Varinius was not an overly cruel man, but he did have his flippant moods and his moments of pique, a common enough attribute within the nobility. It was best not to tempt fate.

“Liviana, my dear.” Entering Varinius’ study, Liviana bowed her head and immediately dropped to one knee, staring at the grout in the floor. “I have need of you later tonight. One of the newest acquisitions thought to steal from me and confessed that she was planning to escape. You will handle their punishment.” He never looked up from his desk. 

“Of course, dominus. It will be done as you say.” Foolish, foolish person, whoever it was. 

With a flick of his finger, Liviana was dismissed. Normally, most of the punishments were handled by the guards, Tevinter citizens born and bred for the job, loyal to a fault. But every once in awhile, for the particularly gruesome penalties, Varinius liked to use his gladiators. To remind them of their precarious position. Even the most favored, when they were not competing or touring, could easily be tortured within an inch of their life. It was a reminder that their lives were not their own, and would never be, unless he let them go. And they knew that would never happen, at least, not until he had sapped every ounce of life from their bodies and left them nothing more than a husk.

With a heavy sigh, Liviana scrubbed at her face with one hand as she leaned against the doorway to her cell. “Cal,” she raised an eyebrow at the intruder before her. “Did you lose your way to your own room? I’ll give you a hint. It’s across the hall from mine.”

“No, idiot, I know perfectly well where I am,” Calliope snapped. Something in her eyes gave Liviana pause.

“What’s wrong?”

“The dominus is having you punish the new slave tonight, isn’t he? I heard the guards talking about it on the way back,” she replied quietly.

Liviana shrugged. “Yes. And?” They had both done this multiple times in the past. It was nothing to new to either of them.

“I…” Biting her lip, Calliope lifted her gaze to her friend’s eyes. “It’s the youngest. She’s four, Cat.”

The air fled her lungs. The straw-filled mattress rustled as Liviana sank down upon it. Four years old. Practically a baby. Beating an older child, or a teen, they could understand what was being asked of them. But a child... “What do you want me to do, Cal? I have my orders.”

“The little girl,” Calliope continued softly, “She was caught hiding bits of bread in her clothes, and told the guards when they caught her that she was saving them, so she could leave later tonight and give them to her sick mother. She’s not from here, she was captured in the Free Marches, one of the Dalish. She doesn’t understand what slavery means. She thought she could go home.”

Liviana stared at her friend in horror. 

“Do you know why I call you Cat?” Her voice was calm and steady, a stark counterpoint to the chaos that was rising within Liviana. “You weren’t born into slavery, not like me. You had a home, a family who loved you and probably still misses you. You were nobility, real nobility, and nothing like the magisters here. Your family had honor, and they were kind, or so you told me when we were younger. I call you by your name so that you might remember that this wasn’t always your life. That once, you had a life that was your own and that you had honor.”

Liviana tore her gaze away, and whirled towards the stone wall. Her name had been twisted from her mother’s lips and thrown into the dirt, discarded along with the memory of her childhood. _Evelyn_. Even thinking it sounded odd now. And Catalina was a forgotten name. Only person had ever called her by that name, and he was long gone. _Max_. A dull thud echoed as she pounded a fist against the solid surface. “What honor do I have now?” she hissed. “What use is there in remembering? I’m a slave, Calliope, we both are. I don’t belong to myself. What can I do?”

“You can remember.” Rising to her feet, she stood just behind Liviana’s back and grabbed her shoulders, whirling her around to face her. Her pale lavender eyes blazed. “Is this all that there is? For you, for me? When we die, what will you tell the Maker? Will Falon’Din guide my soul or leave me to wander as a shade?”

“There is no place for us in the Maker’s realm,” Liviana spat. “You know that.”

“Perhaps,” Calliope conceded. “But maybe, maybe, there’s something redeemable left in us. She’s a baby, Catalina.”

“If I don’t do this…” Her voice trailed off into a whisper, her eyes sightlessly seeing the future that awaited her if she disobeyed her master. Pain was of little consequence to her, but the magisters could be quite creative in their magical punishments. Maker, she hated magic. Especially the cruel tang of blood magic.

“I know,” Calliope sighed, and backed a step away. “It’s up to you. I just… I heard her crying, you know? And I know I’ve heard dozens of kids cry before, but this… This was different. Because she didn’t understand.”

It had been years since she had thought of her childhood. Peace. Laughter. Love. She had all but forgotten what her mother looked like, but Liviana remembered the feeling of being held in warm arms, a gentle hand smoothing her dark waves of hair back as a sweet voice sang a lullaby. She remember the spicy perfume her mother had worn, the scent of cigars and brandy that clung to her father’s coat, and a boy with the same black hair as she, her brother Maxwell, just a few years older.

It was the summer she turned six, and she and Maxwell had been sent to her aunt’s estate in Antiva, to escape the winter sickness that had run rampant through Ostwick that year. The two children had run wild through the lush countryside, delighting in their new surroundings, reveling in the attention their relatives were bestowing upon them, for it was the first time their mother had brought them to Antiva.

Until one fateful day. Liviana didn’t remember much of it, except that she and Max had gone for a ride with the family, and she had been so very proud to be riding her very own pony. Ignoring the warnings to stay close to the others, she had spied a family of rabbits and wandered off through the woods alone. Only to get utterly and completely lost.

And then found, a day later, by slavers.

The men quickly found out the little girl had some skill with daggers, not realizing that her uncle, the famed Guildmaster of House Montalto of the Antivan Crows, had taught the child the basics of self defense. Her fate had been decided.

In retrospect, Liviana knew she had been rather lucky to be sold to the ludus. The other pretty, healthy children that had been taken along with her from other cities proved to be far more unlucky. There had been times she had experienced the life she might have had instead, and brief tastes she received of that lifestyle did not appeal to her in the least bit. To be kept as a plaything… She repressed an involuntary shudder.

So she had trained. Learning quickly by the Doctore’s whip what was expected of her, but thank the Maker she was a sharp study. The relatively few scars on her back proved that. Nimble, observant, plus fueled by her fear and rage, Liviana had risen through the ranks of gladiators until she was the uncontested champion of Vyrantium and the Imperium itself at the tender age of 18. By her reckoning, she would have another 20 years or so of this, providing she could remain at the top of her hierarchy, and then perhaps, if she had earned the dominus enough wealth and power, she could ask for her freedom.

And then what?

What would her freedom mean, if it had been bought with the blood of innocents? _No one is innocent, not in this place_ , she thought angrily. _Not even the children._

Except… She had been that child once. Ignorant to the institute of slavery, torn from the safety of her mother’s arms and thrown without care into this depraved, violent world filled with dark magic and bloodlust. How many nights had she cried for someone to come save her until her tears were finally beaten out of her? No one had stood up for her, and now she was this. A weapon, forged in fire, with no conscience, no heart, no soul.

 _No one had come to save me, but maybe I can be that person for this little girl._ Would it matter? If she didn’t complete her task, she would be beaten and then someone else would do it in her stead. So the only thing she would accomplish would be to also cause herself pain, and nothing would change for the child. _But she would see that someone cares, that someone was willing to take a stand._

_He’s your dominus. He has given you everything you have up this point. You owe him your life._

_I owe him nothing._

A familiar fury welled up inside of her, simmering just below the surface. Most days, it was easy to ignore it; to feel nothing was safer anyhow. But then she would see the maimed slaves that trailed piteously after their masters, watch as the pretty new slaves were dragged off to be defiled, observe the markets where families were torn apart, sold to the highest bidder. And all she became was her anger. Were that she were one of those accursed mage, so she could burn them all. And herself, along with them.

_I am no better._

“Liviana, the dominus summons you.”

Stare still locked onto Calliope’s face, Liviana wordlessly nodded. Her friend’s whispered words trailed after her as she stepped out of her room into the night.

“ _Remember_.”


	3. Unexpected Revolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: some description of tools used to torture

Despite the heat that emanated from the sandstone walls and the torchlight that cast dancing shadows in every corner, Liviana felt cold. Resisting the urge to wrap her arms around herself, she kept her hands relaxed at her sides, appearing as if she were simply going for a nightly stroll.

A guard stood at attention outside of a corridor that led down into the basement, where Dominus Varinius kept his dungeons. _A nicer word for torture chamber, I suppose._ Passing by cell after cell, some containing a solitary, broken creature, elven more often than not, with the stones stained with blood and urine and Maker knew what else, she paused at a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall, and pushed it open.

“Liviana, good. This is the vermin the dominus mentioned earlier,” one of the older guards nudged a ragged bundle on the ground. One tiny limb was shackled with a thick iron manacle to the wall. “Tools are over there. You know the drill.”

Still mute, Liviana walked with measured steps over to a rough table, eyes glazing over at the assortment of devices on the table. Iron pokers, steel spikes, hammers, chains. Never before had she been presented with such an array as this; prior to this day, she had always been given a simple whip or flog, or perhaps a branding iron if the victim were truly unlucky. But this… What had the child done to deserve this?

A piteous whimper stirred from the girl, and Liviana broke. “No,” she whispered.

“Eh? What’s that, Liviana?”

Kneeling beside the child, Liviana laid a gentle hand on her quivering back. “I said no,” this time with more conviction.

A rough hand wrapped around her arm and jerked her back, throwing her across the floor. “I know you didn’t just refuse to disobey a direct order from your master, _slave_ ,” the guard towered over her.

“Are you stupid as well as ugly?” Liviana snarled, springing up to her feet. “I. Said. No. There is no reason for all of this,” she waved at the table and the gruesome tools that covered it. “This is a child. I will not be a party to this revolting display.”

Narrowed eyes cut through her. The muscles in her neck tensed as she clenched her fists by her side to hide her own trembling. “This is a slave, the same as you. Or have you forgotten? This is what happens when we spoil the likes of you. But you’ll remember,” he chuckled menacingly. “Bind her. I’ll be back.”

Ignoring the men as they wrapped a length of rope around her slender wrists, Liviana watched as the little girl raised her head, blinking back tears. She sucked in a sharp breath. _Her eyes. They’re the same color as Cal’s_. Icy, pale lavender. An unusual enough color on its own, but for them both to share it…

Calliope had been born into slavery, the daughter of a slave. But her mother had not. They had been one of the Dalish, she had told her friend. A clan of elves that wandered the lands between Nevarra and Orlais. And she had said that this child was also stolen from the Dalish. _A cousin, maybe. Family?_ Slowly, things began to fall into place.

It didn’t take long for Varinius to sweep into the musty chamber, his lips curling at the offensive odor that permeated the walls. “Is it true, Liviana? Is my lovely girl daring to disobey me?” His hand, smooth and soft, caressed her cheek with a lover’s touch. She wanted to throw up.

Instead, she said nothing, and kept her eyes lowered.

“Calliope.” Liviana raised her chin at that name, watching without emotion as her friend entered the dark room. “You will take Liviana’s place, since she is indisposed. I will take care of our pretty one here myself.” They all could feel the faint tingle in the air as Varinius conjured up a small ball of electricity, the sparks dancing from his fingertips. Of course, he wouldn’t mar her skin any further than it already had been scarred. She was too valuable, too beloved among the magocracy as their entertainment. So this is how it is to be now. 

“I will not.”

“What is this?” Varinius whirled on Calliope, the lightning in his hand arcing through the air, illuminating the shadows in every corner. The little elven girl gasped. “An insurgency, a rebellion, in my own home? I who have fed and clothed and provided everything for you? Have you forgotten what you are?” His hand closed around her wrist like an iron band. “You are nothing. You are less than the dirt beneath my feet, both of you. Without what I have given you, you would be broken on the streets!” Spittle flew from his mouth, flinging into Calliope’s eyes that shifted nervously to the girl on the floor. “I see,” he murmured, suddenly calm. “Yes, I noticed her eyes as well. A relative, do you think? I thought she might one day be worth something, as you have been. But she was a bit too lively. And it’s apparently… contagious.” Drawing out that last word, Varinius released Calliope’s wrist and circled the three slaves, one hand stroking his peppered beard.

“What should I do then, hmm? I am a reasonable man, kind, benevolent, am I not? I will do this for you, for I can see you care for the child, Calliope.” He smiled warmly. “She will simply be beaten, just for you. Of course, I cannot let your own insubordination go unpunished, nor Liviana, but you understand.”

Varinius expected Calliope to fall to her knees and grovel at his feet at the present of his magnanimity. To be honest, so did Liviana. For the dominus to change his mind and show leniency… He must be in a rare mood, indeed. _Take it_ , she begged her friend silently. It would get no better than this. They could bear the brunt of his ire, the two of them. Pain was nothing.

Calliope did drop to the ground, but not in front of the dominus to everyone’s shock; instead, she crouched near the child. “What’s your clan?” she muttered.

“Ghilain,” came the hoarse whisper. The older elf nodded, and stood.

“No. I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary, dominus, but I beg of you, do not harm her,” Calliope bowed her head meekly. It fooled no one.

“Such insolence!” Varinius growled. “So be it. I paid a high price for her, but with her blood, I should gain enough power so as to control you both.” Pulling a dagger from his belt, he stalked over toward the girl, her eyes wide with terror, scrabbling back in the dirt to stave off the inevitable.

“No!” Calliope screamed, and lunged at the dominus’ back. Too stunned to react, the guards watched in shock as their master fell to the ground, his neck neatly and cleanly snapped. Dead.

“What have you done?” Liviana whispered.

“What have you done?!” The head guard roared. Blades sang against scabbards as all five men withdrew their swords and as one, advanced on the elf. “You murdered the dominus!”

“I- I didn’t mean to!” Calliope’s gaze was wild and searching, swinging to and fro before landing on her friend, and the girl. _I’m so sorry_ , she mouthed at them both.

They would kill them all. No, perhaps it was better this way. The child would be spared the inhumanity of being a slave, a whore, just another object, no different than a toy to be used and discarded when it no longer served. And Calliope and Liviana would finally find peace.

Hands jerked the elf, pinning her to wall. She didn’t try to run, or fight, resigned to her fate as she was. “Bitch,” one of them spat. The sound of tearing linen echoed far too loudly in this place. They weren’t just going to kill them, Liviana realized, her horror growing by the second. The guards did not mean to give them a clean, decent death.

 _No._ “Stop!” Leaping from the ground, Liviana threw her bound wrists over a hook set in the wall just above her and twisted her body, pulling her legs up to lash out at the nearest man, feet wrapping around his arm, and yanked with all of her considerable strength. He cursed as he lost his grip on his sword. Steel clattered against stone, and in an instant, the child sprung from her dusty corner and kicked the weapon away from him, and straight toward Liviana. With one fluid movement, the warrior threw herself back down to the floor over the blade and sliced through her ropes, snatching up the sword with a feral snarl. “Get away from her!”

The guards flanking Calliope whirled on the newly freed warrior, their own weapons brandished to defend themselves. But Liviana caught the glint of fear in their eyes. For hadn’t they heard of the games from last year, when she had been thrown into the arena to face down ten other armed soldiers as a punishment for their own rebellion, and had stood triumphantly over all ten defeated bodies at the end? And how she had just the other month ripped apart two massive Qunari, those monstrous and vicious Tal-Vashoth, with nothing but a simple pair of daggers? These simple soldiers stood no chance.

Still, they would try. They had to, for to let her escape would mean their own disgrace and death. “Get her!” 

Liviana smiled, and flicked her wrist. One guard screamed in pain as a sword sliced cleanly through his forearm. Blood pooled on the ground as he fell to his knees, trying to staunch the wound in vain. Kicking his blade free, Liviana slid it over to where Calliope stood, still pinned to the wall by the head guard.

“Marcus!” he turned to shout at his fallen man. A fatal mistake. “You will hang from the walls in pieces for this, you-”

With a pained yelp, the guard stumbled back from the heavy knee to his groin, blinking back tears and unable to defend himself as Calliope lunged for the sword on the floor and swiped up, neatly driving the point straight into his thigh and severing the artery within.

“Mythal…” The elven child stared in horror at the carnage, not even daring to blink as the two women dispatched the rest of the soldiers in a matter of minutes. The stone would forever be stained red here. “So much blood…”

“Sorry, da’len,” Calliope hauled the girl up by her arm and dragged her to stand. “Don’t look at them. Keep your eyes up, okay? Let’s go. Come on. Liviana?”

Liviana stood frozen in the center of the room. “We killed them, Calliope. All of them. The dominus, he’s- we- We’re dead. They won’t stop until we’re in shackles, and hang us. Or burn us, or flay us alive. Maybe bury us. Or stick us in a hollow pot and roast us- Do they still do that? Or-”

“Stop it,” Calliope hissed, shoving the little girl behind her. “You’re scaring her. We’ll-” she bit her lip, then glanced down at the child who was shaking like a leaf in a winter's storm. “We’ll be fine. If we can convince the others to join us, we can get out here, we’re close enough to the southern gate to slip through. And then it’s a simple matter to get out into the countryside, and hide-”

“No one will join us, Cal,” Liviana sighed, her shoulders slumping. “We killed the dominus. We signed everyone else’s death warrant when we did.”

Calliope shook her head violently. “We didn’t. I did. It was me, and I- I should have just taken his offer, but I…”

Silence reigned over them all. The sound of the dead was deafening. 

“Are we all going to die?” A little voice stirred them from their morbid resignation. The two women looked at each other.

“No,” Calliope shook her head, then repeated with a bit more conviction. “ _No_. We’ll find a way, da’len. Don’t you fret. See, Liviana is the strongest gladiator in all of Thedas. And she’s super smart. If anyone can get us out of her, it’s her.”

“Such faith,” the other woman muttered under her breath. Lifting up another sword from a fallen guard, Liviana carefully unbuckled his scabbard and slung it around her waist. She could use two swords while within the ludus, but once they escaped into the city, it would make her too conspicuous, so she would have to ditch one at some point. “We need to move. Someone will come looking soon.” She grabbed a dagger she spotted in a boot. “Here,” crouching down in front of the girl, Liviana held out the slim blade. “Take this.” The child nodded solemnly and clutched the hilt tightly.

“So, what now?”

Liviana paused by the door, and turned back to glance at Calliope. “We try your idea. If that doesn’t work…”

If that didn’t work, they were all dead.

Walking as casually as they could muster, the trio made their way across the training yard, releasing the barest breath of relief that the other guards on duty hardly spared them a second look, assuming they were done with their duties. They approached the barracks, and nodded to the men on duty that night.

“Eh? What’s she doing with you?” One suddenly barked, pointed a finger at the girl. “Thought she was to be punished?”

“His lordship was most gracious tonight,” Liviana gazed demurely up at the man from underneath long, dark lashes. “See, Calliope took a shine to the little waif and he agreed to spare the chit for her sake, in exchange for… certain favors.”

The other chortled at that, his greedy eyes raking down the length of Liviana and Calliope’s toned muscles. Both women thanked whatever deity that was responsible for the moonless night, grateful for the darkness that hid the dark bloodstains upon their armor. “Understandable. Using the powers of your pretty little cunts to get what you want? Devious little minxes, the both of you.”

“Why, Petrus, I don’t know what you mean,” Calliope giggled. “We’ll just be changing our clothes, and be right back out. Taking this one to the barracks with the others.” The guards waved them inside.

Slipping down the stairs into the tunnels that were lined with their rooms below, Liviana and Calliope furtively knocked on each door, calling for the others to join them at the end of the hall, as far away from prying ears as they could manage. Still, it was a risk, for if one of the guards decided to come down to check to see why the girls hadn’t come back out yet, their cover would be blown. 

“What’s going on?” Cassius, one of the other warriors eyed them warily. “We’ll all get the lash if they find us out of bed at this hour.”

Liviana waited until they were all gathered in a tight circle together. Twelve gladiators. Ludus Atropos was not one of the more populous gladiator schools, nor one of the elite, so twelve was all it had. But she knew them all as if they were her family. They had all trained together, slept and ate together, bled together. Some she preferred to others, as with any family of siblings, but still. The thought that she had helped condemn them all to death weighed heavily upon her soul.

“The dominus is dead.” There was no time to sugarcoat this.

“What?” one of the others gasped. “How?”

Calliope raised her head. “I killed him.”

Two arms as thick as tree trunks threw her against the wall. “You stupid shit!” A tall woman named Helena growled. Veins bulged under her skin as she clenched her fists shut. “They’ll kill us all!”

“You brought death upon us all!”

“How could you?!”

“Maker, we’re all going to die.”

“Not if we kill them first.” Liviana’s voice cut through the frantic whispers and hushed wails.

“You’re mad,” Cassius stared at her and took a step away, as if he could protect himself from her insanity. “If the guards here don’t kill us, the city guard will.”

“Kill the ones within the ludus, and then we scatter. The Dragon’s Gate is only a mile from here. If we split up, we can hide and slip out.”

“And then what?”

“Whatever you want. Go hide in the country, travel to another town-”

“And what about the brand on our skin?”

Liviana raised a hand to touch the back of her right shoulder. Burned into her flesh was the symbol of a serpent intertwined around itself, grasping its own tail in its mouth. She had almost forgotten about it.

“Then leave the Imperium,” Calliope replied. “We can disappear into Antiva, the Free Marches, anywhere. We have the skills to become mercenaries and earn our own living.”

“And live each day afraid bounty hunters will find us?” Another man scoffed. “What sort of life is that?”

“Would you rather be dead?”

The group muttered amongst themselves, some glaring at Liviana and Calliope, others darting their gaze around the room with fearful eyes. Resisting the urge to tap her foot, Liviana stared at the end of the hall, counting down the seconds in her head until a guard would come in and find them. She shoved Helena back.

“I’m going to get my things. If you want to fight, get yours. If you want to die like a slaughtered pig, stay for all I care.” None of them truly feared death, no. Some were more hesitant about the concept than others, but they all had been raised to know that their lives were expendable. But most of them, like Liviana, were afraid to die bound. If anything, they wanted to go down in battle, bested by another more talented than they, or at least overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Which was how their future was looking at the moment. 

Marching past the crowd, Liviana entered her room and grabbed her plain training armor, doing up the buckles with surprisingly steady hands while Calliope did the same in her room across the hall, with the little elf sticking close by to her savior. “What’s your name?” the elven woman asked while she finished dressing.

“Mara. Did you know that we have the same eyes?”

“We do,” Calliope smiled through the rushing adrenaline that threatened to spiral out of control. “My mother was from Ghilain as well. We might be cousins.”

“Really? Only Mamae has eyes like mine. I don’t know if she has any other family with the same color. She doesn’t like to talk about her childhood very much. Are we going back to the clan?”

“Yes. We are.”

From across the hall, Liviana raised an eyebrow. _Bold promise to make_. It would be a bitch to keep, but she knew Calliope would do her best. “Ready?” She kept the guards’ swords she had pilfered earlier, wincing slightly at the idea of leaving her own, perfectly weighted blades behind. But they were too conspicuous, their workmanship too exquisite for an ordinary sell-sword to have.

“Mara, I want you to stay close to me, or Liviana, alright? And in case something happens to either of us, go south. Do you know how to find south? Follow the river to the end, and you’ll find the Imperial Highway, and keep taking that south and then… Sweet Mythal. I know Ghilain is to the west. But how far south?” She muttered, more to herself than anyone. 

“The map,” Liviana interrupted. “The map the altus showed me. Go south until you reach the Minanter river, then head east. No, Cal, she can’t go west, not alone. That’s Orlais. They love elves just as much as the Imperium. Go east, girl. Into the Free Marches. He told me there are clans that roam the plain north of a city called Starkhaven.”

“Right, east, to Starkhaven. You got that?”

“Umm…” The little girl screwed up her nose, trying to remember everything that she was just told. “So south? To the Mininaner River?”

“Minanter. Yes, then east.”

“Okay! Will my clan be there? Will you come with me back home? Are we-”

“Hey! You two! What’s taking so long? You know the dominus isn’t a patient man.” Heavy footsteps thudded against the sandstone stairs as the gruff voice came closer to the hall. “You better get-”

“NOW!”

Calliope shouted just as the guard rounded the bend, her curved daggers held at the ready. The man didn’t even have time to call for help. Staring in shock at the bright red that quickly soaked his leather clad chest, the guard dropped to his knees, and fell over. Another one dead.

“We’re really doing this, huh.” Cassius’ flat voice sighed from behind the women. “Well, let’s get up top. If we’re gonna die, I’m at least taking that asshole Spurius down with me. Let’s hit the armory first.”

“Venhedis! What is everyone doing? Are you all mad?!” A man dressed in a dark, simple robe came racing up to them from the other side of the barracks, his dark eyes wild and vengeful. “This is treason! When the dominus hears of this-“

“The dominus is dead,” Calliope interrupted him. “Clopas, we’re killing the rest and escaping. You in?”

“Of course he’s not,” Liviana muttered. She gripped her swords tighter, knowing in an instant where this was headed. He wouldn’t support them. Mages stuck to their own. 

“You will be going nowhere,” hissing at the gathered group, Clopas slid a dagger out from underneath a sleeve. “Adsit spiritus invo-“

He never finished his incantation. The dagger dropped useless to the ground as Clopas fell forward, glassy eyes unseeing the blade that pierced his heart. Lowering her arm, Liviana tucked the rest of her throwing knives back in her belt. “Where’s the other mage? We need to deal with her before we go.”

“Right here.” The second slave mage that resided in Ludus Atropos peered around the corner, glancing at Clopas’ body sprawled on the floor. Naella, a quiet girl of just sixteen who rarely ever spoke unless spoken to directly, actually smiled at the sight. “I’m with you. Let’s burn this shithole to the ground.”

“She’ll sic demons on us the second we turn our back on her,” one of the others hissed. “Kill her now and let’s get on with it.”

“I won’t. I want out just as much as you, maybe more than anyone here. Varinius, he-“ Naella’s voice cracked. “My sister, he…”

Calliope nodded. “I remember. Let’s go. Can you cause some sort of distraction?”

“I can,” the petite mage nodded. “Hey. It’s been a real fucking honor.”

“Morituri te salutant.” Cassius whipped one arm up to his chest and bowed, his face grave and body rigid.

Calliope snorted. “No one says we’re gonna die.”

“Mors certa, hora incerta.”

“Well, no one says it’s gonna be tonight, Helena.”

Liviana’s lips curled into a wistful smile. “Mors mihi lucrum. Let’s get the bastards.”

And with that, the twelve gladiators stormed up into the yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morituri te salutant- Those who are about to die salute you.
> 
> Mors certa, hora incerta- Death is certain, its hour is uncertain.
> 
> Mors mihi lucrum- Death to me is reward.
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? Rants? Random exclamations of joy and/or rage? Let me know (aka feed the author and tell her all the things kthnxbye)


	4. Bene Morere

Utter chaos reigned within the ludus. 

The mage, Naella, drenched the courtyard in wreathes of fire and spires of ice, wreaking as much havoc as she could while the others darted for the armory, snatching whatever weaponry they could get their hands on. Liviana already had the swords she would use, but she also threw a sturdy shortbow and a full quiver over her back, slid a dagger into each boot, and stuffed a few potions into the pocket that hung from her belt, just in case.

“Stay close behind us,” Calliope called to Mara as she finished arming herself. Taking up a wickedly sharp spear, the elf turned to face the others. “We’ll be stronger if we rush the gate together. Cut a path straight through to the main street, then from there scatter. We can regroup where the river splits, I think it’s just a day or two south of the city.”

“It’ll be easier to travel in smaller groups. Two, three at the most,” one of the others called out. Livana glanced over at Calliope, and they both nodded. It was a given that the pair would stick together, just as they always had.

From outside, they could hear the shrieks and screams of soldiers being set alight, of the bells that rang throughout the city in a particular cadence that all the slaves knew well- the toll that signified one of their own was escaping, a summons for the rest of the city guard and mages to come protect the precious assets of the nobility. The entire force of Vyrantium would soon be upon them. Time was running out.

One slender calloused hand gripped Mara’s wrist tightly as Calliope sprinted outside, all but dragging the tiny child behind her. Liviana followed close on her heels to guard their backs, her twin swords swirling around her body like a deadly silver tornado. Together, the women cut a swathe through the carnage along with their fellow slaves. It was only twelve against dozens, but they were no ordinary twelve. Trained from their tender years, all of their compassion and softness beaten out of them, these twelve were born and bred only for destruction. It was all they knew.

A inhuman roar shattered the night, drowning out the rest of the carnage. “Demon!” Someone screamed from the inner courtyard. _Kaffas, the household mages must have found us_. Liviana could smell the coppery tang of blood on the air and feel the tingle of magic pushing down on her skin. Not the normal magic she knew well, the light touches of healing and crackling of lightning, but an unearthly presence that felt as if the very Veil would unravel. It could only mean one thing.

_Blood magic._

Just because it was technically forbidden did not mean that each mage of the Imperium was unaware of the spells. It was necessary, in this world, to know everything and anything that could gain them an edge over their opponent. So when the creature of fire and molten lava burst forward and set its incandescent eyes on her, Liviana merely stared back. And vaulted straight for it just as ice suddenly coated its burning limbs. The demon of rage was helpless as Liviana and Helena shattered its body into thousands of shards of frozen fire that glinted brightly in the light of the fires that rampaged through the ludus.

“Push through!” The tall warrior who claimed Avvar parentage yelled as she bellowed a furious war cry and charged three more soldiers with her massive greatsword. Mentally thanking Helena for the distraction, Livinana and Calliope darted through the gate into the street.

They could hear the shouts of the city guard coming from every direction. Cassius and Naella, along with five more, jogged up to them with Helena trotting up seconds later while wiping the blood off her sword. She tossed the rag away. “Drusus and Rena didn’t make it,” she stated flatly. "We separating now?”

Liviana glanced down the street. "We should. It'll be easier to run and hide-"

“No,” Calliope shook her head. “The entire guard is coming for us. The gate is only a few minutes away. We stay together until then, but after that, we scatter.”

“If we make it that far,” Naella muttered. “A favor, if I may. If they close in on me, kill me. You know what they’ll do to me if I’m caught.”

Cassius nodded along with the rest of them. Tranquility was a rare punishment in Tevinter, not as common as it was rumored in the southern countries of Thedas, but mage slaves who dared to disobey and were judged to be irredeemable were more often than not condemned to a life severed from the Fade, and sent to the mines. A fate which every mage feared more than death. To lose all your hopes and dreams... Dreams were all they had.

Together, the group ran through the dark streets of Vyrantium, pausing every few blocks as small pockets of guards of twenty or thirty tried to stop them. There might have just been ten of them left, but they were still much more skilled than the common foot soldiers. From the corner of Liviana’s eye, she saw Helena’s sword cleave a man in literal halves while Calliope darted in and out of the melee, her daggers sinking into thigh after chest, slicing and twisting wherever she could find exposed flesh. To her left, Cassius’ trident flashed in the torchlight, pinning another to the wooden lantern post. This wasn’t a simple escape anymore; this was a massacre. Liviana almost felt sorry for the citizens who would peek out of their houses in the morning and see their houses and streets painted with the decaying bodies of their guard. _Almost. They brought this upon themselves. Every last one of them. No one is innocent here._

Body after body fell before them as the group pressed their way to the south. The Dragon’s Gate was soon in their sights, the massive wooden doors closed and barred securely for the night. But wood it was, and wood could splinter and burn if they just got close enough. And beyond those gates-

_Freedom._

The idea was almost inconceivable. Inhaling a deep breath brimming with the promise of fresh air and no more lash, Liviana picked up her pace. Calliope and Mara ran by her side. They were so close, almost there, almost _free_ -

And then everything went to the Void.

A barrier slammed into place in front of her. Liviana growled as she collided with the invisible wall with a loud crack, knowing instantly that her nose was broken. Blood dripped down her face. Without bothering to glance behind, she careened to the right, hearing the cries of her companions as they were all forced to split up. Divide and conquer. She knew what the city mages were doing.

Buildings of beige and dark gray stonework blurred into nothing, the wind whistling in her ears as she ran faster than she had ever run in her life. There was a smaller gate not too far from here, just a simple door in the wall used by the guard, but if they could reach it, they might still have a chance.

“Mara!”

Liviana’s head whipped around at Calliope’s shrill scream. The little girl lay in the street, sprawled out over the cobblestones where she had tripped. Just behind them, she could see men approaching. Ten, fifteen, closer to twenty now. They knew who she was and had sent the bulk of the guard her way.

The elven woman scooped up the child, and whirled away, back to where Liviana had frozen in place. “Keep going! We’re almost th-”

“Calliope! _No!_ ”

Time itself seemed to slow down. Her best friend of almost twenty years slowly fell to her knees. Mara tumbled out of her arms and gasped. One single, solitary arrow protruded from Calliope’s abdomen. It was over.

The sound of boots beating against the road echoed from behind them, cutting off the rest of their escape. The three slaves were thoroughly trapped. “I’m sorry,” Calliope whispered with stricken eyes. Grabbing the shaft of the arrow just a couple inches away from the entry point, she snapped it in two and threw the excess away, the flint head skittering across the stones. _So she still means to fight to the bitter, bloody end_. The elf propped herself up with the spear she still carried. “Cat. Take Mara and run. You can still make it. Over that building, the door’s just on the other side.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Liviana gritted out. “We wouldn’t make it anyways.”

“You can. Please. Here,” tugging on a leather thong around her neck, Calliope pulled a small wooden pendant free. A small halla was carved in the center. It was all she had left of her mother, and Liviana knew her friend valued that bit of tree more than anything else in her life. “Take it.”

“Calli-”

“Run. I can buy you some time.”

“Cal-” 

“ _Run_ , Cat!” Liviana stared in horror as the ranks closed in on them. Calliope was bleeding out; they both knew that even if they had time and a mage healer at their disposal, her odds of surviving this would be slim. She was already dead. And now they were trapped and Liviana was faced with choosing between certain death, abandoning a woman she called sister, or worse. There were whispers of what the mages did to disobedient slaves who were too valuable to kill, rumors Liviana knew to be all too real. All of this for the single little elf that clung to the studded leather strips of her cingulum and silently sobbed to herself. Was she worth it?

“Cat! Mors mea, vita tua! _Take her and run!_ ”

 _My death for your life_. The choice was made. Saluting her best friend once more, Liviana’s hard glare locked onto Calliope’s face. “Bene morere. Come on, kid. Get on my back, and whatever you do, don’t let go.”

She couldn’t even spare a final glance towards her friend. Feeling Mara’s little hands wrapped securely around her armor, Liviana sheathed one sword and threw the other away. If they were caught now, an extra blade would mean nothing. Eyeing the wall of men that were trying to flank them, she chose her path. Straight towards a house on her left. With a strength borne of sheer urgency and pure adrenaline, Liviana grabbed the trellis that adorned the wall and hauled herself and her little burden up and onto the roof. She paused for only a second at the edge to survey the street below before she leapt, praying that the awning she dropped onto would hold their weight.

Luck was with them tonight, in this, at least. The awning held, and even sagged just enough so that she could leap free of the taut linen without a landing that was too jarring. Leather boots scrabbled against the rough paved street as she launched herself back into a sprint and pulled her sword free once more.

“You there! Halt!”

Just two guards stood alongside the little door, their weapons glinting in the flickering firelight at lined the avenue. Liviana met the first with a mighty lunge, her sword sliding against his as they both vied for the upper hand. Letting her blade slip down the length of the guard’s, she ducked down, the man’s weight suddenly pitched forward into the empty space where she had been. He stumbled, and then cried out as her sword pierced through his ribs. Grabbing up his fallen blade, Liviana whirled on the second man and disarmed him with a quick flick of her wrist. Dead. _Venhedis, which one of them was carrying the keys? Maker, I don’t have the time to look!_

Apparently, the Maker was feeling benevolent tonight. The side door in the wall that encircled Vyrantium swung open, an armored figure standing in the dark portal. “What is all the racket going on in-”

He never got to finish his question. A dagger flung straight into his throat guaranteed that. Vaulting over the last body, Liviana sped off into the waiting night. 

She did not dare slow her pace for the next hour or so, thankful for all the training that made her as strong and resilient as she was now, able to carry the slight weight of the child who now slept on her back without too much added effort. The countryside just outside of the city was riddled with dozens of little farmsteads, providing plenty of shadows for the woman to use to cloak herself from prying eyes. Every now and then, she would hear a cry of alarm as people realized that the bells of Vyrantium had not yet ceased, and she knew that the citizens would mutter about a possible slave uprising and what it would mean.

Had the rest managed to escape? Would she reach the fork in the river and find the others waiting on her? Calliope had really been the only one she would have called friend, but she was on relatively good terms with most of the others. Cassius, Rena. Helena kept mostly to herself, Naella had been housed and trained separately, and a few of the others were still relatively new to the ludus, and Liviana had spent most of the past two years since the Festum Corona in Minrathous, or touring the Imperium and fighting in other spectacles, so she hadn’t had a chance to get to know the newer recruits very well. Briefly, she wondered what had happened to Decima, the friendly healer that had always teased her while she stitched her up. _Probably dead now. Or recaptured, and waiting to be interrogated to see if she knew of our plan. Not to mention all of the trainees that were in the other barracks. Maker, how many others will suffer for what we did? The ones who didn’t die tonight would be sent to the mines to work the rest of their lives, and die sooner_. Broken backs, broken spirits. And it was all her fault. And Calli…

Cal- Calliope was dead. Shaking her head, Liviana flung her tears away. Useless thing, crying. It solved nothing and more often than not, just earned you a boot to the gut to make you shut up. Slaves weren’t allowed emotion, especially gladiators. How long had it been since she had cried last? Liviana was surprised her body even remembered how to.

Calliope was dead. And no amount of tears would bring her back. _She’s at peace now. Mors mihi lucrum._

The shouts had finally faded away or died down, and the only sound Liviana could hear were the crickets chirping away in the tall grass. Making her way carefully to where an abandoned shed lay, the wooden walls worn to gray from the years of sunlight and elements, she laid down the little girl onto the packed dirt. It was of no use continuing on tonight; the sky was already beginning to lighten and dawn would soon arrive. A human carrying an elf on her back would attract too much attention, and to be honest, she needed the rest. Pain, she was used to. Going without sleep, or regular meals, she was not.

Leather softly creaked as she arranged herself just inside the door to the left, out of direct view. If someone came poking in, she might have just enough time to stun and incapacitate the intruder, and hopefully get away. If not… Well. She made it this far. It would be a shame to die now, wouldn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bene morere- Die well


	5. Survival Skills

No one else was coming. 

For two days, Liviana and Mara had waited in hiding in the woods near the fork in the river. The little girl spent most of her time up in a tree, safe and sound, while the human lay in wait just a short distance from the river, facing north to wait on the others. But no one came. Did they all die? Get recaptured? Or perhaps they had headed in a different direction? She could only hope, but the reality now was the two of them were utterly alone.

And they couldn’t stay any longer. So that night, just as the sun set, Liviana fetched the girl from her hiding place and they started the long journey south. 

The main issue that soon became a serious problem was the matter of food. Liviana was used to other slaves preparing her meals and eating regularly, and well. And while Mara didn’t need to eat much, she still needed to eat. She soon discovered that hunting was fairly simple for the seasoned gladiator, however, neither of them knew how to start a fire, and the idea of eating raw meat was entirely unappealing to both of them. There was only one solution. Steal. 

Luckily during the first few days it took to reach the meeting place, and while they waited, homesteads were abundant and it was an easy matter to just swipe a few pieces of drying and cured meats from a rack, or a couple of drumsticks off a roast chicken from an outdoor spit. But the further south they traveled, the more sparse settlements became. 

“Piece of kaffas, fucking balls of-“

“Not like that,” a little voice chirped. “It’s more of a-“ Mara flicked her wrist in the exact same way that Liviana was currently moving. The human scowled. Mara had apparently remembered watching the adults in her clan light fires, but her explanation left much to be desired. 

“Screw it,” Liviana threw the rock against the wall. “It’ll have to be raw fox tonight.”

“But I don’t like raw fox!”

“Then don’t eat!” Mara’s jaw trembled at the harsh bite in the adult’s voice. “No, no, come on kid, don’t cry, I just…” Liviana groaned, letting her head thud against the rock behind her. Maferath’s balls, what the hell was she doing? Trying to keep herself alive was hard enough, but caring for a kid? Who was basically still a babe? She had half a mind to just dump the little elf in the next town. 

Wide, icy lavender eyes filled with tears. Cal’s eyes.

_“Shhh! What’re you doing? You can’t cry like that, they’ll whip you again!”_

_“I just want my mama,” a little human girl sobbed. “It all hurts so much. And I miss my haaair!”_

_A blonde elf about the same size as her crouched beside her, tentatively stroking the shorn black waves that barely reached her chin now. Just yesterday, her hair had touched the small of her back. “It’s still pretty. And it’ll grow back. Now you hafta hush, or the Doctore’s gonna come down and we’ll all be in for it. What’s your name?”_

_“Evelyn,” she sniffed. “But my brother called me Cat. What’s yours?”_

_“Calliope. My mamae called me Calli.” Calliope smiled._

_“You have the prettiest eyes,” she whispered. “Do all elves have such pretty colors?”_

_“Just me and my mamae that I know,” Calliope shrugged. “Say. You want to be friends? Like, best friends?”_

_“I… I think I’d like that.”_

But Calliope was dead now. Because of Mara. _No, that’s not fair. It’s not the girl’s fault that any of this happened. I thought we were past sentimentality and things like emotions and consciences and morality, Cal. Didn’t we agree to sell our souls so we could survive without the guilt or nightmares? And then you had to go and show your bleeding heart and rip it right open. You always were the more tender one, always with a kind word or gentle smile for all your bloodlust. And now what? We’re stuck in the middle of the woods, no food, middle of the desert, and the chances of dying of starvation and or dehydration or some sort of illness from raw game are pretty high right now._

_But you did always prefer the fights with impossible odds, didn’t you?_

Liviana fingered the little wooden pendant that now lay around her neck, and studied the little girl. A few skins that she had swiped from a farm a few days ago that were still full with water from the last creek they passed two days ago were propped up next to her. They had reached the Imperial Highway yesterday, and now traveled parallel to it, far enough away so as to not be visible to other travelers, but close enough so that she would not lose her bearings. So if they continued down this path, and if she was careful with rationing, the water could last them another four, maybe five days. Which should be long enough for them to reach the Minanter. She hoped. 

Were they still in Tevinter? Liviana knew they were in the Silent Plains, but she couldn’t remember from that map whether or not the Plains were in Nevarra or the Imperium. Either way, she wouldn’t feel safe until she was deep in the Free Marches at least.

“I’m sorry,” Mara interrupted her musings with a small whimper. “I know you’re trying. I’m just…”

“Tired,” Liviana nodded. “And hungry. And not used to this, right? Me neither kid. Tell you what. Once we get to the Minanter in a couple of days, I’ll find someone who can teach us how to start a fire, okay? And then we’ll never have to eat raw fox ever again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

_Just for you, Cal._

***

An unfamiliar rumble drifted across the plains towards the end of one day, just over a week after they had escaped Vyrantium. Mara shrugged when Liviana asked if she recognized the noise, unconcerned with their fate. As far as the little girl could tell, the fierce, scary human would protect her from everything and anything and that was that. Keeping an arrow notched in her bow, Liviana motioned for the child to stay behind her as she slowly crept up the ridge. It was…

A river. A massive, roaring river, whitecaps frothing as the water was dashed against massive boulders that dotted the watery expanse. She could barely even see the other side. The rivers in Tevinter had been so much more placid, docile, meandering things. Power lived in this river. She loved it.

“The Minanter, I presume,” she murmured as she surveyed the grassy valley. There, maybe a thirty minute walk back west, was a gleaming bridge of granite and marble, an unfamiliar pennant snapping in the brisk wind over the arches. 

“It’s a skull,” Mara replied when asked if she could make out the symbol. “A skull with a flower on it. I don’t like it. It’s creepy.” Not for the first time, Liviana wished she had elven eyesight.

“I think that’s the heraldry of Nevarra. I’m not sure though. Think they’ll let us cross?” Another shrug was her only answer. Liviana sighed. “Well, let’s get moving and find out.”

Guards as still as statues, adorned in armor that gleamed a warm gold in the light of the setting sun, flanked the entrance to the bridge. Above them towered a polish slab of marble on either side that had been carved into the figure of a stern man that judged each traveler as they crossed. _A king, perhaps? Or a Chantry priest?_ Liviana wasn’t sure what the Chantry consisted of here, but she had heard it was vastly different from the religion she knew in Tevinter and much more revered.

“State your business,” a woman’s voice boomed from her right.

Straightening where she stood, Liviana turned toward the guard and cleared her throat, replying in a clear and steady voice, “Traveling to find work. We’re looking to head into the Free Marches.” She couldn’t tell if the woman was even looking at them, with the solid helm that all the guards wore, but Liviana knew what she saw. A bedraggled woman in plain, stained leathers with a simple sword, and an elven child dressed in a tunic that was easily three sizes too big for her, with no shoes upon her feet, just torn and dirty rags that had long expired in their usefulness. Both of them were in dire need of a bath, and neither carried a pack. Kaffas, could they look any more suspicious? Liviana counted the guards. _Four at the entrance, and eight more just past them. Probably more waiting in reserve, maybe under the bridge? Where do their reinforcements come from? Their armor is heavy, they’re likely slow as molasses. I could definitely take out the first four, and then-_

“From Tevinter?”

There was no use in denying it; Liviana’s accent had already given her away. “Yes.”

“Papers?”

 _Venhedis_. “...No.” Her fingers twitched, a scant handbreadth from her hilt.

The guard studied them a moment longer. “Marches, you say? If you follow the Minanter west, you’ll reach Tantervale in about eight days. Nevarra City is a three day walk east, but I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for there. Mercenary, I assume? That would be your best bet at finding work, then. Maker go with you.”

Liviana blinked, not willing to believe such luck. No papers, from Tevinter, and she was letting them pass, just like that? Unless… Unless she wasn’t the first escaped slave to make her way across the river. Slavery was not condoned in the rest of Thedas. Helena had told her that. Was the guard helping her? “Thank you. Come along, Mara.”

Clutching the adult’s skirted leather plates securely, the little elf trailed obediently behind the human, staring with wide eyes up at the guard. Mara could have sworn she saw the guardswoman wink. Humans were strange.

By some unspoken pact, neither of them spoke, or even dared to breathe the whole length of the ornate bridge. Liviana barely noticed the elegant carved scrolls or the finely worked gilt leaf that covered the railing, so intent she was on just getting to the other side without being stopped. She was positive this was a trap, some cruel trick. Perhaps that guard signaled her fellows at the end, and there would be soldiers waiting to take her back in chains to Tevinter. Maybe they would just bind her with irons and throw her into the river. Each step she took conjured up more and more gruesome punishments, until even if she had wanted to breathe, she would have found it impossible. 

And then polished granite gave way to smooth, paved stones beneath her feet. Liviana regarded the path as it wound its way south. The main thoroughfare continued south, towards the coast and the Waking Sea. The guard said that the western road would lead to Nevarra City. And to the east lay the Free Marches. A collection of city-states where mercenaries were a copper a dozen. A place where she could blend in, and be forever free from the Imperium.

They had made it.

“Liviana? Did we do it?”

Liviana smiled, and in a rare show of emotion that surprised even her, ruffled Mara’s unruly curls. “We did. By the way. You told Calliope your clan was Ghilnain? Do you remember where they camped?”

Screwing up her nose, Mara thought carefully for few seconds, then shook her head. “I remember trees. And mountains. There was desert too, but we stayed away from that mostly.”

“Right,” Liviana sighed. Calliope had mentioned that her mother’s clan roamed the land between Orlais and Nevarra, but that was years ago. And Liviana didn’t even know if Calliope’s mother was of the same clan as Mara. Either way, crossing over into Orlais would be risky. Mara needed clothes, and they both needed a decent meal. 

“Are you going to ask about the fire now? You said as soon as we reached the river,” came a plaintive whine.

“So I did. Come on, we’ll start east and ask the first person that looks friendly.”

But it seemed their earlier luck had run out. Not a single soul would deign to listen to her requests, scoffing at her questions, and one had even lashed out at Mara. Liviana yearned to run them all through with her sword. But common sense told her that being a murderer and fugitive in one country was more than enough at the moment, so she stayed her hand and instead, silently seethed.

Darkness fell, and the temperature dropped. Nights in the Imperium ranged from faintly chill in the winter to hot and sweltering in the summer, and it was spring. She had been used to cool and pleasant evenings where it was comfortable to lay out under the naked sky in just a plain shift. But it appeared that crossing the river had put them into another realm. Here, the air bit at her skin and the spray from the Minanter doused them in a constant mist of what felt like millions of tiny shards of ice. They would need a fire tonight. Or preferably, shelter.

Liviana squinted at the lights she saw in the distance. A small village lay just around the next river bend. Village meant farms and barns. If they played this right, they might be able to find shelter in a barn for the night, maybe even get some food or clothes. She could only hope that there was some sort of skill she possessed that she could barter with, maybe chopping wood? Or any sort of fetching or carrying? She was good with manual labor, healthy and strong, if a little worse for wear after their escape.

She quietly wound her way off the road and through the little path that led to the village, and paused in front of a little building that glowed with torchlight from within, the sound of laughter echoing out into the square. Placing a hand on the rough hewn door, Liviana pushed it open.

A few heads turned towards her and Mara, but for the most part, the rest of sparse crowd ignored her. They must have been used to the constant influx of travelers that took the highway from Nevarra to Tantervale. Another woman and a child was nothing of note here. Approaching the counter in the back, Liviana attempted her best friendly smile at the barkeep.

“Hello. My friend and I are traveling to Tantervale, and find ourselves in need of a place to sleep and a hot meal tonight.”

“Coin?” The portly man gruffly interrupted, barely glancing her way.

“No,” Liviana shook her head. “I was hoping that there was something I might do in exchange? I can clean, or chop food, maybe fetch-”

“Got help of my own. Don’t need you, and I’m not a charity. Get lost.” He moved away from the bar.

“Please, we just need-”

“I said out,” he snarled over his shoulder.

 _Don’t kill don’t kill don’t kill_. Liviana kept up the steady litany and forced her rage back down, to where it had always lived deep inside of her. This was fine. She would find a another way. Grabbing Mara’s hand, she stormed out of the common room and back out into the frigid night.

“That vacca stulta, piece of bloody kaffas! I wasn’t looking for fucking charity,” she growled under her breath. Taking a path at random, Liviana all but dragged Mara behind her until they reached a farm on the edge of town. “Come on, let’s see if they’ll let us sleep in their barn.”

A burly dark haired man opened the door at her firm knock. “What do you want?”

“Beg your pardon, but my friend and I were wondering if we might be able to stay in your barn tonight? I don’t have any money to offer, but if you had any chores around the place that needed doing, I’d be happy to offer my services,” Liviana tried to smile again, but found she didn’t have it in her this time. Hopefully, it was enough that she was no longer scowling.

The man regarded her with a sharp eye. “Can you cook?”

“No.”

“Know how to mend a chicken coop?”

“I… no.”

“Can you milk a cow?”

“I could learn?” Liviana offered, her heart dropping further with every question.

The man snorted. “In the time it would take to show you, I could just do it myself, so where’s the point in that? Can’t cook, can’t mend a coop, don’t know anything about farm life, do you, lass?” Liviana’s shoulders sunk. “So the question is… what do you really have to offer me?”

Her head jerked up at the sudden shift in his voice. It was a tone she knew well, had heard dozens of times over the last several years of her career. Lust, desire. There it all was, written plainly on his face. Liviana’s face hardened, and her fists clenched tightly at her side. Her refusal danced on the tip of her tongue.

“Liviana? Will we have to eat raw fox again? I’m so cold,” Mara whimpered.

Resting a hand on the girl’s head, Liviana swallowed her sharp retort. _Just a babe. She doesn’t deserve this_. “...A warm place to sleep for the girl, and a clean shirt for her and either shoes or at least some rags so I can rewrap her feet. Food for both of us. And whatever you want, you can have.”

His low chuckle grated on her nerves. “That can all be arranged my dear. Come inside and I’ll see about feeding the both you. The elf can take the hayloft in the barn, there’s spare sacks up there she can use for blankets. The rest we’ll see to in the morning.”

“Liviana?”

“Shh, Mara. It’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vacca stulta- stupid cow


	6. One More Night

All in all it wasn’t a bad trade. The pair ended up staying two nights with the man, Brennan, who had been so besotted by Liviana’s trained talents that he had even allowed them to draw a few buckets of water from his well so they could scrub off the dirt and blood from their clothes and skin. On the second morning, he showed her to how to start a fire at her request, then packed them a small bag with a few slivers of dried meats that would keep them for a day or two on their journey.

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay another night, my dear?” Brennan sighed as he watched her fasten her armor around those toned muscles that had given him such delicious pleasure.

“We really must be going.” This time, her smile was genuine. It was oddly liberating, in a way, to have paid for their supplies and comfort with her body. For this time, it was solely for her own benefit, and by her own choice. And the jerky he had given them was really good, not to mention that she was finally, blissfully clean. “Thank you again.”

“No, thank you. Ugh,” he groaned. “I think you’ve ruined me for all other women from now on. If you ever come back by this way, look me up, will you love?”

“Of course,” Liviana nodded. “Take care, Brennan. Come on, Mara.” The child had been confused as to what had happened and how her guardian had managed to secure food and shelter for them both, but the human just patted her pale hair, and told her not to worry. Liviana sent up a tiny prayer that the child was young enough to not understand what truly had occurred.

The road east was fairly empty at this hour of the morning, their only companion on the road a faint fog that rolled in from the river into the shallow valley, curling in wispy tendrils around their ankles. A chill wind, leftover from the night before, nipped at their skin. But as they continued down the packed dirt path in the small valley, the sun gradually chased away both the fog and wind, leaving only a pleasant warmth that radiated through their limbs and brought them both a sense of contentment and, Maker forbid, even optimism for Liviana. Today was a good day. They had food, a good night’s rest, and it was only a couple more days to Tantervale. Then she could find real work, and better food, and see about discovering the location nearest Dalish clan so she could deliver her ward to them.

Liviavan surprised herself when she realized she would be feel slightly dejected when the time came to leave Mara. The little girl had grown on her in the couple of weeks that she had been in her care, with her cheery, yet woefully out of tune songs that she loved to sing as they walked, and the sweet way she chirped her approval whenever Liviana did something that she enjoyed. She would definitely not miss the whining and complaining, even if the pout that accompanied those bouts was also rather endearing. Still, it would be odd to be completely on her own. 

All her life, there had been people around her. As a child, she had spent the days in the company of her tutors and staff and family and slept in the same room with her nanny, a kind, older woman named Margaret whose only job was to wait on her hand and foot. After her capture by slavers, she had been thrown into a cage with other children, spending the next many years in the common barracks with the other trainees, training together in the yard, taking meals at the long table in the main house, and sleeping in one large room lined with wooden bunk beds and only a thin, threadbare blanket to cover her. It had only been when she had won five games of her own that Dominus Varinius had ever so graciously bestowed on her a room of her own, such as it was. Three solid walls, with the fourth wall constructed of open bars and no door. And even then, Calliope had been across the hall from her, easily visible and within whispering distance. Not to mention that the snores of the others carried well down the hall. What would be like to sleep alone? To take her meals without anyone to share it with? 

Liviana felt her stomach lurch. She wasn’t sure if the anxious pit that swelled in her gut was from excitement or absolute dread. Only time would tell. It will still be some weeks before that, anyhow.

The air was sweeter here, a heady scent of new growth and fresh greenery filling the air. Liviana almost gasped as they crested the next ridge, for below them was a sight that she had not seen since she was a child. To the left sparkled the Minanter in the warm, golden glow of the afternoon sun, still full of fury and power, crashing over the boulders that littered the surface, rapids swirling in mayhem and chaos that promised a watery death to whomever dared cross it without the proper skills. A small, more placid tributary ran from the river across the road, and flowed down to the south. And to the right, there was a forest.

An actual forest, with green trees and foliage that would soon grow dense and heavy as spring progressed. Pines and firs and maples and oaks and all sorts of smells filled the air, bringing with a surge of emotion for a childhood long lost. 

“Is my clan down there?” Mara hopped eagerly from foot to foot beside her.

“Did your clan live near a forest, Mara?” Liviana glanced down at the child, both of them standing still at the side of the road.

“Yes. Although,” the girl wrinkled her nose, “There were really big mountains around it, too. I don’t think this is our forest.”

“I’ll get you to them, don’t worry. But in the meantime, what say you we go down into the woods and find something to eat? Now that I can start a fire,” Liviana added.

“No more raw fox!” Mara squealed. “Maybe we’ll find a chicken!”

“A chicken. In the forest. I don’t…” Shaking her head, Liviana shrugged and motioned for Mara to follow her. Stranger things had happened. “You know. Maybe we will find a chicken.”

The temperature dropped as the pair ventured into the forest, the new growth on the trees gently swaying in the breeze. The crash of the Minanter gradually faded behind them and the remnants of last winter’s leaves crunched with every step. At first, Liviana had been worried that Mara would have caused too much noise while she attempted to hunt for the first time, but she soon discovered that her worry was baseless. The girl was Dalish. Silent stalking was what she had been born for. If anything, it was Liviana that made the most sound as she crept forward on her leather clad feet. Her stealth training had been on dusty, soft sand, not a forest floor littered with twigs and roots and leaves.

Carefully withdrawing an arrow, she notched it and pulled the string taut in her fingers as she slunk around to wait behind a tree. There was something up in the brush ahead, but what, Liviana couldn’t tell. It was on the larger side- a deer, or a wolf, perhaps? Or one of the wild cats that roamed the mountains near Ostwick? Her father used to tell her stories about them as a child, with their razor sharp teeth and massive claws, able to rip a man to shreds with a single swipe. Did they come this far north?

Something rustled behind her, barely audible. Liviana sent up a brief thanks that the Doctore had forced her to train blindfolded for months in an attempt to hone her other senses to a fine point. Otherwise, she’d be none the wiser to the fact that she was now surrounded. But by what…?

“Mara,” Liviana muttered as softly as she could manage. “Stay close.” The girl pressed herself against the human’s leg, her eyes widening to an almost impossible degree. Glaring at the treeline, Liviana’s sharp eyes caught another hint of movement. _There!_ She raised her bow.

“Halt, shem! Drop your weapon!”

Two elves melted out of the trees, their own arrows trained on her and Mara. Without looking, she already knew that there were others behind her. Surrounded. Straightening, Liviana slowly lowered her bow and let the line go slack. “We’re not trying to cause trouble. Just hunting for some food.”

“Bold of you to go hunting in our woods, shem,” one elven woman sneered. “Bold, or just plain stupid.”

“We didn’t know,” Liviana replied steadily. “We’re not from around here.”

“The Dalish,” Mara whispered, her voice tinged with awe and giddy excitement. “We found them!”

“What’s this? Another wee flat ear who wants to play at being Dalish?” Laughing, a man glanced down at the girl. “Or your servant, shem?”

Liviana resisted the urge to punch his face. “Neither. She is of Clan Ghilnain. I promised a friend I would see her restored to her people.”

“Ghilnain?” The first woman asked in surprise. “You’re a long way from their lands. But your accent tells me you're not from around here, anyways. From where do you hail?”

“Tevinter,” Liviana said flatly. _Maker’s ass, if they want me to tell them my life’s story…_

But apparently that was enough to placate the elves, for now. Quick glances and furtive hand signs passed between the four elves, each of the debating what to do with the two interlopers. Liviana hated being talked about as if she were not standing right there, as if she were just a vase, or a chair. That part of her life was over now. 

“Look,” she interrupted testily, “I have no interest in you people. Just tell me where I can find Clan Ghilnain and we’ll be out of your woods.”

“They are far west, roaming the woods near the Hunterhorn Mountains,” a man answered slowly. “That is a journey of many months. Not to mention you could wander that forest for decades and never find the clan. You would take the girl still?”

 _Of course it’s at the ass end of Thedas. Calliope, you owe me._ “I promised.”

The elves exchanged more looks. “We are Clan Tillahnnen. The next Arlathvhen is in a year. Give the girl to us and we will see her restored to her clan.”

Turning to Mara, Liviana crouched down so she was eye to eye with the child. “Is that okay, Mara? These people say they’ll take you in, and help you get home. 

Mara twisted her hair around one finger. “Are you coming with us?”

Liviana glanced up and caught the perceptible tightening of the elves’ jaws. “No. You’re with your people now. You’ll be fine without me.”

“No! Don’t leave me, please!”

Gently untangling the slender limbs that had wrapped around her neck like a vise, Liviana pulled the leather thong from around her neck. “You’ll be okay, kid. And safer. Big, human cities are no place for you.”

“You would keep me safe,” Mara sniffled. “You have kept me safe. You rescued me from that mean human! I promise I won’t complain about eating raw fox again! Just don’t leave me!” She threw herself back into Liviana’s chest, her entire body shaking with the strength of her sobs. 

“Mara...” Liviana sighed. “This is where you belong. The Dalish are your family. Being with me, there would always be a risk that you’d end up with bad humans again, and it would break my heart if I wasn’t able to stop it. You’ll be safe here.” Pulling back a bit, she held out the necklace. “Here, take this. Calliope would’ve liked for you to have it. Just promise me one thing? Don’t forget her, alright? After all, it's because of her...”

Wiping her nose, Mara sniffed and took the halla necklace. “I promise.”

“That’s a Dalish pendant,” one of the hunters scowled. “Where’d you get it?”

“My friend,” Liviana snapped. 

“They were Dalish?”

“She was a slave,” she muttered, barely loud enough for the elf to catch her words. “Same as us. Her mother was Dalish, before she was captured.”

“An elf was your friend?”

“My best friend,” Liviana’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Take care of her. She’s a good kid. Scared of the dark though, so make sure she sleeps with someone and near light.”

The woman nudged the man who had been talking in his ribs, hard enough to make even Liviana wince. “Athven…”

Athven sighed, his shoulders resigned and drooping ever so slightly. “Fine. Hold, shem. You risked much to return one of our own to us. The least we can do is offer you our fire for tonight. Tomorrow, you can be on your way.”

“I thought you didn’t like humans.”

“We don’t.”

Liviana eyed the Dalish hunters warily. Four against one, she could probably take them easily, but an entire clan? If they turned on her…

“Our offer is in earnest. We swear in the name of Elgar’nan and Mythal that no harm will befall you under our care,” the woman said solemnly. 

“That’s the All-Father and All-Mother,” Mara whispered. “She’s the goddess of justice and he’s the god of vengan- vegance- vaga-“

“Vengeance,” the woman supplied with a smirk. Mara nodded somberly.

“What she said. It’s very serious.”

“I will accept your offer, then. Thank you,” Liviana’s lips twitched up in a ghost of a smile as Mara slid her hand into hers, sticking the other thumb into her mouth to suck as they followed the hunters back to their camp. She tried to relax as best she could, having received the elves’ assurance that she was in no danger, but her fingers still itched for a weapon to hold. Was their word as meaningless as the magisters’? Or did their honor actually mean something to them?

_Guess I’ll find out one way or another._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of weekly updates. Hope I can stick to that schedule. :D


	7. Midnight Flight

The camp was relatively small, Liviana thought to herself as they approached the sentries. Four large wagons with six wheels that resembled ships, with pale yellow sails and all, were set around the edge of the encampment, with smaller wagons of only two wheels scattered amongst them. All throughout, silvery white halla grazed. Calliope had told her the stories that her mother had taught her as a child, of the halla’s grace and intelligence and nobility. Seeing them now, Liviana could believe it. Suddenly, she wished that she had not given the pendant away. 

“Halla!” Mara squealed at her side.

“Come.” The female hunter that had spoken to her earlier introduced herself as Terae. “I will take you to our Keeper. She is the one who guides us all.”

An elderly woman sat near one of the fires, stirring herbs into a little pot that lay at her feet, a woolen shawl pulled snugly about her thin shoulders. “Terae,” her eyes narrowed as they approached. “What is this human doing here?”

“Keeper Ellinna, we found them in the woods,” Terae clasped one hand over her heart. “The human has brought a child of Clan Ghilnain out of Tevinter. She said she was trying to reunite this girl with them.”

“Tevinter?” Ellinna raised one eyebrow. “What is your name, human?”

“Livinia," the warrior replied, keeping her spine straight and her chin just barely lowered. "This is Mara.”

“Hello!” Mara chirped with a bright grin. The Keeper worn face softened as she smiled indulgently at the girl.

“Please, sit. Terae, bring some food for them both. Now, tell me. What were you in Tevinter?” Her voice was not unkind, but the question still rankled.

Stiffly, Livinia stared at the fire. “Does it matter?”

“I find it matters to me a great deal. The humans do not approve of us, the Imperium less so than others. I would know if my people are safe or not. Or have you led them to us?”

Livinia’s head jerked up at that. “No. It’s just us, you have my word.” The Keeper nodded serenely. “I was… a gladiator. Of a ludus that no longer exists.”

“What happened to the ludus?”

“It burned down,” Mara offered, grumpy that the adults were leaving her out of the conversation. “Calliope- she was an elf with eyes like mine- killed the mean man. Livi killed the rest.”

“Thank you, Mara,” Liviana grumbled. 

“You’re welcome!”

Ellinna studied the human with pale, watery eyes that Liviana suspected saw much more than the Keeper let on. “You were a slave?”

“Was.”

“And Mara?”

“Her, too.”

“You escaped,” Ellinna murmured softly, “And saved the child as well. An elf, whom most humans consider worthless. Why?”

“I made a promise,” Liviana practically glared up at the old woman, her hands curling into fists by her side.

“She promised Calli,” Mara interjected yet again. “They were friends.”

“Closer than friends, I think,” the Keeper noted. Liviana could only manage a single, abrupt nod. The pain at losing her best friend was still a razor sharp knife in her heart, twisting and digging deeper every time her name was mentioned. Calliope, who was so much better than she would ever be. It wasn’t fair, that she died and Liviana yet lived. But wasn’t that the way of her life? _It should have been me_. “You have my condolences. We will take the child with us. The meeting of the clans is in a year. We will see Clan Ghilnain then, and return Mara to her family. Until then, she will be as one of our own. Stay tonight with us, share our fire and food, and tomorrow we will see you on your way. Where do you intend to go?”

“Tantervale is closest, I think," she relaxed a bit with the knowledge that Mara would be safe here, and that she would not have to take the child through hostile Orlais. "I might work my way to Starkhaven, or towards the coast. There should be plenty of work for a hired sword.”

“That there should be.”

With that dismissal, Liviana thanked the elf who brought her a tender leg of what appeared to be goose, along with a few roasted tubers and a bedroll, and settled in a grassy hollow out of the way of the rest of the camp. None of the others came to speak to her, and she found she was just fine with that. Idle conversation was the last thing on her mind tonight. Instead, she watched with a fond, wistful smile as Mara darted from person to person, giggling more than she had ever seen the girl laugh, and running in circles with the other children of the clan. And Liviana felt only peace. Hopefully soon, her time in Tevinter would be no more than a faint memory, maybe the occasional nightmare that would fade with time. The girl had a chance to grow up with a normal childhood, away from the decadence and blood lust of the Imperium. Away from the taint of magic. Free. _Just what you wanted, Cal._

Crickets sang in the air around them, a familiar, comforting tune. Watching hazily as embers from the fires sparked in midair, Liviana tilted her head up towards the sky to stare at the waxing forms of the twin moons that were now high above the forest canopy. Her task was complete. Mara was safe here, and the Keeper had promised to return her to her clan. It was a much better option that trying to trek across the whole of Orlais with just the two of them, not that Liviana doubted her survival skills. If there was no work to be found, well, there would always be people like Brennan.

The bedroll spread over the soft grass made for a comfortable enough mattress and Liviana quietly groaned as she stretched out her muscles. Finally able to relax for the first time since Calliope had appeared in her room to beg her to rebel, Liviana felt the gravity of her deeds hit her like a mace to the gut.

They had killed the dominus. A favored noble of the Tevinter Imperium. Varinius hadn’t been a magister, thank the Maker for small mercies, but he had still been well regarded amongst the others, with a brother that was a magister, not to mention the fact that Liviana herself was famous. And now she was a fugitive, probably being hunted at that moment for murder. How far would they go to track her? Was her face that memorable?

Raising one hand, she swept it over her features. High cheekbones, a slim, slightly crooked nose that had been broken more than a couple times over her career, one nostril pierced with a gold ring, full lips, thick, wavy obsidian hair. Eyes the color of the thunderstorm from her Marcher father and warm, tanned skin, courtesy of her Antivan mother. And starting at the edge of her nose, a pale scar traced a line across her right cheek. Beautiful, according the Imperium’s beauty standards, but not anything out of the ordinary. She hoped. Her coloring was similar enough to the rest of the Imperium, but out here? Maybe she should head east, find passage to Antiva. No, Antiva was too close to Tevinter, as was the northern Marches. Perhaps Orlais would serve her better. Or Ferelden? _A country full of wet dogs and snow. Am I that desperate yet? If I stay on the move, maybe I’ll be safe._

Maker. She was _free_. She could go anywhere she wanted, do anything she wanted, eat anything she wanted. She would have to… find her own meals, her own lodging. Care for herself. When she had been tended to by other slaves for her entire life. Could she do this? Wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly Liviana felt very small and alone. As a gladiator, everything was taken care of for her. Never worrying about where she would lay her head, whether she would get robbed, thinking about things like money- _Oh, kaffas. I don’t know the first thing about money. How many coppers or silvers it costs to rent a room, or buy food. I don’t even know how to cook the fucking food._

This was going to be a disaster. She hadn’t even wanted to escape even though in her most secret of dreams, she had prayed for it. Life as a slave, while not perfect by any means, had been relatively comfortable ever since she had achieved Victorem. Varinius had given her more freedoms and liberties than any of his other gladiators, and despite her constant muted rage at her lot in life, there was a kernel of appreciation for what she had had. It could have been much, much worse.

_Will I miss it?_

_Will you miss being a slave?_ Calliope’s voice rang inside her head. Liviana could almost see the disdain on her face as she tossed her flaxen blonde hair over one shoulder and glared. _Come on now, Cat. Who in their right mind would miss being nothing more than an object? You tolerated it on the best of days, and despised it the rest. We used to dream of this, you and I. Do you remember?_

 _We talked of escaping,_ Liviana smiled at the memory, _of running away to find your clan. They would take us both in and we would live our lives as hunters in the forest, stalking our kill with our mighty bows. You always did have the better imagination._

_You were stronger._

_But you were kinder. I thought it a weakness then, and I feared for you. And now…_ A sigh escaped her. _Your compassion was your undoing. You should be the one here in this camp, not me._

Ruminations of the past and future eventually lulled Liviana into a fitful sleep. Tossing over once more onto her side, she stared into the glow of the dying embers, watching Mara from across the camp. The little girl was snuggled into her bedroll against her new bedmates, another girl of about twelve, her mouth hanging open. Liviana missed the slight weight of the child against her, but it was better this way. She didn’t have the maternal instincts or patience to take care of a child, the last few weeks had proved that. And as for a bed partner, well, if she really wanted one, Liviana was sure she would find no shortage of willing volunteers no matter what town she stopped in.

Turning back over, a movement on the edge of the treeline caught her eye. Her hand slid towards her sword, laying right next to her bedroll. Every muscle poised for action, Liviana released her hilt once she realized it was just the Keeper, and another elf in similar robes to Ellinna's. She shifted once again, intending on trying to find some sort of rest. But then, a glyph glowed.

Liviana shot up in her bedroll. The Keeper was casting _magic_. She was a mage, and so was the elf who walked beside her. None of the stories Calliope had ever told her included mages among the Dalish. Although, it made sense. Magic ran through every race on Thedas, save the dwarves, why would the Dalish be any different?

Either way, Mara would not be safe here. No one was safe around mages, around people who could summon a demon with the flick of a dagger. Images of abominations and demons of ice and fire and terror and a young man, his very mind taken from him and bound to his master’s, kneeling on hot coals, raced through her memory. Her mind was made up in a heartbeat.

Sword, bow, quiver, throwing knives. The little satchel of leftover food and the skins of water. Lacing her boots, Liviana tensed as she watched the Keeper approach her, keeping one hand on her blade.

“Where do you go in the middle of the night, Liviana?”

“ _Mage_ ,” Liviana hissed, springing to her feet. “I saw you cast.”

“A warding glyph, to keep us safe,” the Keeper nodded. “This troubles you.”

“Vishante kaffas,” she spat the curse. “I know the temptations mages face. I know their lust for power, always straining for more beyond their grasp. I will not leave Mara in such a place where demons could tear her to shreds in mere seconds. I’ve seen it happen more times than I can count.”

Glancing to the side where Mara slept still peacefully, Ellinna sighed. “You’ve seen the worst of magic, and-”

“It’s _magic_. And mages will always want more power. It is their nature. Your nature.” Liviana began to stalk away.

“Not everyone is like the Tevinters. But I see, there is too much anger in you,” came the soft reply. “Go then, if you must. But leave the girl here. She will be safe.”

“Safe?” Liviana’s braid whipped around her neck as she whirled in place. “Safe? With mages in her midst?” A harsh, short laugh grated out of her throat. “That’s a bold lie.”

“You truly have never a mage who never wanted more than they had?”

 _Naella_ , a small voice whispered. Liviana shook her head. She was a slave, and with the threat of Tranquility hanging over her, she would not have dared for more. _And I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. If she lived, what’s to say she didn’t turn to blood magic to save herself? Just like all the rest._ “No.”

“Leave the girl, human,” Ellinna restated in a firmer tone. “She will need us to guide her when her own magic comes in.” Liviana stared up in horror. “Yes, I can sense it. Her mana stirs in the Fade even now, and soon, she will need the training only a mage can provide. Unless you would rather see her locked in a Circle?”

She had heard the whisperings of the southern Circles. Towers where mages were locked away under the templars’ watchful eyes, guarding everyone from danger. Forbidden to ever leave, to have a family of their own. Prisoners for life. _But at least they aren’t slaves_. Her muscles strained with indecision. “...No,” she muttered finally, unable and unwilling to even picture Mara trapped within dark stone walls ever again. Calliope did not die just so Liviana could force the girl into another cage. “I would not see her locked up.” For even though the child would be a mage, Liviana could not easily forget how Mara had made her smile more these last two weeks than she had the last two years of her life.

Her boots silently tread over the grass, her breath coming in tiny white puffs of air. She paused by Mara’s bedroll, and studied the girl’s sleeping face. A simple halla pendant was clutched tightly in her tiny fingers. Nodding to herself, Liviana stepped out of the Dalish encampment, and headed north, back to the Minanter.

Her promise to Calliope was fulfilled. The rest of the future was now her own.

*** 

There was no work to be had for the likes of her in Tantervale. White robed Chantry priests and laymen roamed the streets, and the guard in their pristine armor dominated every corner of the city. The entire place operated in precise order and with religious fervor and for a dirty, travel-worn, penniless former slave, it was wholly unwelcoming. Liviana didn’t even bother staying within the city walls. 

Six more days, and six more nights of hunting and sleeping under the stars and thanking whatever deity was responsible for the lack of rain later, she found herself at the gates of Starkhaven. It glinted like a gem on the horizon, growing steadily brighter as she approached, the marble and gold gilded palace shining in the brilliant sunlight. The city itself was surrounded by verdant green hills, dotted with little cottages and farms all around. Such a peaceful, idyllic scene. Liviana felt entirely out of place here as well.

The guard and Chantry still retained a sizeable presence within the city, but she soon found that they kept mostly to the two inner rings, where the wealthier merchants and nobility resided. Here in the outer ring, seedy taverns and inns abounded, and she fit in quite nicely. A merchant directed her to the Chanter’s Board outside of a small chantry a few blocks down with a leer and a wink and an offer for her to return to him if there was naught available for her. Liviana rather thought she’d spend another night outside in the open rather than bed down with him. At least Brennan had been relatively clean and somewhat attractive.

There were a few notices, mostly asking for help finding a missing person, or a family heirloom. Sighing in defeat, Liviana thanked the Chantry sister who had read her the listings. “Oh,” the sister called out as she turned away, “There’s one more. A merchant caravan leaves for Wycome on the first of Cloudreach and needs more guards.” 

“Cloudreach? What is that?”

“The next month, child,” the sister frowned at her question. 

_So not Eluviesta?_ Liviana shook her head. She had forgotten that the Imperium used different names for their months. How much else was to change for her? “Where am I to go?”

“The merchant is staying at the Cock and Bull inn. It’s three streets to the west of here. Maker’s blessing be upon you, child.”

Resisting the urge to snort with laughter, Liviana instead merely nodded and set on her way. _Like the Maker ever had a hand in my life. Then again, I am free now so maybe…_ She shrugged. 

The sun had set, bathing the palace that towered over the city in golden light, and the lamplighters were making their rounds, lighting the lanterns that lined the cobblestone streets. She rather liked it here. The pale gray stone of the outer ring was different enough from the tan sandstone of Tevinter to make her feel like she was truly free from that accursed place, and the people, well. She could get definitely used to their accents. And best of all, not a single mage roamed the city. The Circle of Starkhaven was outside of the town proper, distant enough that should chaos befall the mages who lived there, the innocent populace would remain safe. She approved.

The voices from the tavern reached her before she saw it, loud shouts and cheers and laughter drifting out into the streets. Pushing the door open, Liviana made her way to the back counter. “I’m looking for a Messere Guinne?”

“Right here, lass,” a tall, slender, hawk-nosed man a few tables over waved her over. “Come about the job post? Let’s have a look at you.” Liviana stepped over to his table, one hand resting on her hilt in a casual stance. Dark hazel eyes raked over her form, and he shook his head. “Too young. I need someone that can protect my goods, not someone I’d have to baby. Try again when you have some experience, lass.”

Opening her mouth to spit out an angry retort that was she twenty-four years old and hardly a babe, she hesitated when a scuffle in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

“I said, let me go,” a barmaid snapped. 

“Don’t be like that, lovely,” the drunk, boor of a man slurred. “We were gettin’ along so well.” Liviana could see his hands groping and grabbing at the poor woman’s bodice, a woman who was getting more frustrated by the second, trying to defend herself and not spill the tray of full flagons that tipped precariously in one hand. Glancing around, Liviana noted that not a single soul was even paying attention to her plight. Her fingers closed around one of her knives and before she could consider the ramifications of her actions, she let the blade fly, pinning the assailant’s cap to the wall behind him with a dull thud.

“I believe the woman said to leave her alone,” Liviana strode towards the man with even, measured steps. The tavern fell silent.

“Bitch,” the man growled. “You coulda taken off my head with that!”

“Hardly,” she drawled. “If I wanted to hit your head, I doubt I’d have missed with a target that large and ugly.”

With an incoherent yell, the man lurched for her along with one of his friends, both of them reeking of ale and poor life decisions. Lazily sidestepping the both of them, Livana whipped a dagger out of her boot, shoved her elbow straight into the second man’s throat and aimed a knee straight into his groin. She threw her other arm around the first man’s neck, and pulled back sharply, kicking the back of his knee in and shoving him to the ground, her bodyweight pinning him down in place. Her blade pressed against his neck. “Apologize to the lady.”

“I ain’t-” 

She squeezed tighter. “Apologize.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “Please don’t kill me, I didn’t mean nothing by it, I swear.”

Glancing up at the barmaid, who solemnly nodded at her defender, Liviana let the man go. He skittered away from her, muttering under his breath as Liviana retrieved her knife and his cap, throwing the latter at his feet. Leather rasped against steel as she resheathed her weapons and turned back towards the merchant from earlier, who was now appraising her with an eager gleam in his eye.

“It seems I was mistaken about your skills. You’re hired. We don’t leave for another two days, but I can use your help to guard the wagons as they’re being loaded. Dawn tomorrow.” He threw a small pouch of coins at her. “An advance. Don’t be late.”

“Of course, messere.”

There. A job, and enough money to pay for a meal tonight and a room. She could do this on her own. She could do this.

Calliope’s laugh rang through her mind. _Well, did you have any doubt, Cat? If anyone could, it would be you._

Things were looking up.


	8. New Prospects

**9:34, Vimmark Mountains**

Blood splattered onto the dirt as the blade pulled free of the body with a wet squelch. Cleaning her blade with the edge of the dead man’s tunic, Liviana stood up and eyed the scene before her without a hint of emotion. Six bandits lay motionless on the ground, the wagon full of elegant bolts of silk and cashmere still untouched and protected by the heavy waxed canvas tarp. A few of the other mercenaries shoved the dead over to one side of the path, pocketing whatever bits of silver they could find in the pockets.

“Everything is secure?”

“Yes, messere,” Liviana nodded, turning back towards the wagon and her borrowed horse. Not long after she had taken the first caravan job, one of her employers had insisted they all travel mounted to make better time, and so Liviana had been forced to learn to ride in a matter of days. Days she still recalled with a pained wince. Still, it was a useful skill to know, and maybe someday, once she had saved enough and settled down somewhere, she could buy a horse of her own. The elegant creatures appealed to her, with their large, knowing eyes and loyal devotion.

But settle down where? Maferath’s beard, but she was _bored_. The type of bandits and highwaymen she ran into on the road were hardly worth her time, most of them desperate men and women driven to crime by necessity. Killing them required as much skill as gutting a fish. She, much to her chagrin, found that she actually missed the training of the ludus and the tourneys where she could battle a single opponent for hours, even days. Someone who was equal to her skill and strength. Instead, she fought mice and nugs, day in, day out.

Standing watch by the docks and manses and warehouses, weeks of monotonous travel with merchants and travelers whose faces all blurred into nothing. What was she doing, anyways? No purpose, no drive, no goals. This wasn’t living. No, she was just existing. But what else was there for her? Not like she could get married and just settle down in the country, spend the rest of her life cooking and cleaning and raising some man’s brats. Not for the first time, Liviana thought that her life would have been better off had she stayed in Tevinter.

 _It is what it is_ , she thought sourly to herself. Tugging her cloak around her tighter to ward off the wind, the caravan continued on the road south. The last few jobs had been a bit more interesting, at least. Liviana had offered her services to smugglers and fences, even spent some time on a ship running stolen goods up the coast. Risky and riskier, but it kept her on her toes. And if the guard ever found them, well, at least with ten against one she might have a challenge at last.

_Bored. Bored bored bored._

And this job was the most dull of them all, just endless roads through the plains and mountain passes, with the occasional ragtag group of thieves who were bold enough to try to rob them. She had only taken it because the merchant was offering well over the going rate. Apparently, no one really wanted to go a city that was overrun with Qunari.

 _Maybe I can fight one while I’m there. That Qunari I fought at the First Day games the year after the Archon’s ascent was... fun._ Unbidden, one hand drifted to the faded scar that marred her side. Lucky that it hadn't been another fingerswidth to the right. She could have died that day.

The City of Chains was as bleak as ever, even more so now with the threat of war looming over the populace. This place had never been high on her list of places to retire. Starkhaven held that place in her heart, and Wycome after that. The only Free Marcher city she refused to travel to was Ostwick. She wasn’t ready to go back, wasn’t ready to chance seeing her parents again, wasn't sure if she would ever be. _If they even would recognize me. I hardly resemble the soft child I was back then._

Collecting her pay from the merchant, five whole gold sovereigns, Liviana set off to the sector known as Lowtown, intent on finding a place to stay and a nice, hot meal. Most of the people who frequented this area of town were in their homes at this hour, but a few brave souls scurried about the shadowed streets, keeping one eye over their shoulders all the while. She took comfort in the familiar pressure of her swords, one on each hip, knocking against her thighs as she walked.

“‘Ello, pretty,” a deep voice cooed. “Where you off to?”

“Just out for a nice walk,” Liviana deadpanned. “Lovely evening for it.”

“True, true,” the man melted out of the shadows with four others. “Don’t suppose you’re looking for any company?”

“Sorry. I’m hungry, and I’d like to keep my appetite.” She kept walking. And stopped in her tracks as another man leapt down in front of her.

“Don’t be like that,” one of the others cooed. Groaning, Liviana withdrew both of her swords. Maker’s ass, all she wanted was food and sleep. And these dung balls were keeping her from both.

“You have one chance,” she sighed. “Leave me alone, or die. I’m really not in the mood for a gangbang, boys. At least not with dirty boys and small dicks.”

Cackles echoed off the buildings around them as the six men began to close in on her. “Oh, we can help you get into the mood, pretty. We can have you begging in no time.”

“No. Please. Don’t. Help. Oh no.” Her monotone fell flat, one shoulder lifting and falling in mock defeat. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

In pairs they lunged at her with their dirks and daggers and dull, chipped swords that Liviana wouldn’t even consider using to cut butter. Parry, twist, slice, jab. It was a worn out routine that had played over dozens, maybe hundreds of times over the last two years. What had it come to, that even six against one did not even make her break out it a sweat? She would lose all her skills at this rate, and become nothing more than _mediocre_. A shiver crept up her spine at the thought.

“Incoming! Mind if I join you my… lady…” A man with a bladed quarterstaff in hand ran up from behind her, a dwarf and scantily clad woman in tow, just as the last two thugs fell to the ground. “Well, uhh. You seem to have it hand.” He scratched at his shaggy black hair, offering her a hesitant smile. “That was impressive.”

“I like her,” the woman purred, hanging over his shoulder. “Can we keep her?”

“We already adopted Broody and Daisy,” the blonde dwarf cut in. “I think we’ve reached our limit of strays, Rivaini.”

Leaning over to wipe her swords off, Liviana eyed the trio. An odd grouping, for sure, but not the strangest she had seen. “Thanks for the offer, but I tend to keep to myself. You wouldn’t happen to know of a decent inn around here, would you?”

“Hanged Man,” the dwarf pointed down the street. “Best swill in all of Lowtown. You new to town?”

“Just passing through, until I find another job,” she replied.

“Well, if you need help or anything, let me know. Varric Tethras, at your service.” The dwarf bowed with an added flourish, grinning up at her, waiting for something. Did he expect her to recognize his name or something? “Never heard of me, huh. Well, can’t win ‘em all.”

“He’s an author,” the woman he called Rivaini sighed. “Writes some amazing smut though, if you like that sort of thing. The rest of his works are eh.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, I don’t read much.” There had a been a time, long ago, that she had known her letters and the basics of Common, but literate gladiators had never exactly been in high demand. “Appreciate the suggestions, though. Maybe I’ll look it up one day.” Nodding to them all, Liviana walked away, towards the direction that Varric had pointed her in. _What odd people._

The Hanged Man was like so many other seedy taverns she had found herself in, perhaps a bit more spacious, but with the same smell of sour ale and vomit and desperation permeating the air. Taking a seat, Liviana grimaced as her arm landed in something sticky. “Fasta vass,” she muttered under her breath. “I hope the wine here is at least drinkable.”

A serving girl came to take her order, of a glass of wine and whatever was on the menu for that night, promising to have it out right away when Liviana tossed her an extra few coppers. The chair creaked ominously as she stretched her weary limbs out. Lifting the glass that the barmaid set down, Liviana inhaled, then took a tentative sip. “Balls,” she coughed. “Is this straight vinegar?”

“Bloody awful, innit?” A man at the next table laughed. “You should try the ale. Pretty sure it’s just straight piss.”

“Lovely,” Liviana sighed. “Do I even want to know what’s in the stew?”

“Probably not,” he grinned. “So, traveler, I assume? You’d have to be, to expect the Hanged Man to serve anything palatable.”

“Yes. Looking for work. Know of anyone that needs a sword? Guardpost, caravan, doesn’t matter much to me.”

“Might.” Glancing around, he pulled his chair closer to hers. “How picky’re you with your jobs?”

Liviana raised an eyebrow. Another smuggling job, maybe? “As long as it ends with cold silver in my hand at the end of it, I don’t care.”

“This one’ll end up with gold in your hand, if all goes well. Be at the docks at the last bell tonight. Look for a door with a line of white paint above it and knock three times. It’s an easy enough job,” he added.

“If it’s easy, then why gold?” She leaned back in her chair. “I get the feeling you’re setting me up, and I don’t care for being ambushed very much.”

“No trap, swear on my mother’s grave,” the man assured her.

“Did you even like your mother?”

He barked a sharp laugh, slapping his thigh with one hand, ale sloshing out of his mug in the other. “Aye, I did. Fine woman,” he chortled. “The job’s real enough. Just a bit… unsavory, that’s all. Lots of people shy away from work that would put them on the wrong side of the law, you know?”

“Understood,” she nodded. “I’m not particularly concerned about the guard. I’ll be there.” _And be richer a few more gold pieces for it_. Which brought to mind another question. What on Thedas was she even saving up for?

***

It took her several minutes to find the right door, but she managed to locate the strip of white paint and knock thrice just before the Chantry’s bell tolled midnight. The door slid open. “Right on time,” a gruff voice said. “Niall said he found more help. Got two loads of sensitive cargo down below. Just need to make sure the guard don’t come pokin’ around. If they do, kill ‘em.”

“Easy enough,” Liviana stepped into the dingy room, noting the various pieces of dusty furniture that indicated no one really lived here. It was just a front for whatever operation these men were running. 

She followed him into the dimly lit backroom, treading carefully down a narrow staircase set behind a false panel that he swung open, one hand trailing along the wall that turned from wood to stone. A breeze wafted up the tunnel. Sea air, she realized. This passage led straight to the water. _Convenient._

The path opened up to a large warehouse, boxes and crates littering the edges of the room. And in the center lay the cargo.

Or more precisely- 

Two cages, filled near to bursting. These men weren’t smuggling goods. They were transporting _people_. Slavers. 

A white hot rage that she had not felt for some time raced down her veins, setting her vision aflame. Liviana recognized the terror and despair in the eyes of the captured, both human and elf alike. In one cage, a few children huddled together, staring up at her with large, tearfilled eyes. _Just like Mara. Just like me._

She approached the man she recognized from the Hanged Man earlier that night. Niall, his partner said his name was. “You know how I said I didn’t care about the job long as I got paid?” He turned to face her. “I lied.”

Niall didn’t even have time to react before her dagger had embedded itself in his chest. Choking on his own blood, he collapsed to the ground, one hand vainly trying to stem the inevitable. The cry of alarm went up around the cavern. “Get her!”

Liviana realized her mistake as soon as the men began rushing her. These thugs were a bit more skilled than the normal bandits she had been used to. And she had not counted them before she striked. What a rookie mistake. And her ignorance of the amount of guards that were in that chamber was soon revealed.

Counting quickly in her mind, keeping both of her swords up as she waited for them to attack, Liviana made out at least eleven armed with bows and blades, and two mages. “Venhedis,” she cursed, watching as her world erupted in flames. She should have remained calm and dispatch those two first. Now… _Well, I wanted a challenge, didn’t I?_

Her swords sang as she arced them through the air, bringing her right arm to slice straight through leather armor on one guard, her left swinging out to meet only air, the man dodging her blow. Leaping out of the way of a thrust, Liviana rolled along the dusty floor, squinting her eyes to protect them from the grit, and lashed with one blade, neatly severing the tendons of a man whose screams echoed through the cave. She barely stopped to breathe as she flowed from one stance to another, feeding off the adrenaline that poured into her system, the pounding of her heart a welcome sensation. All of her emotions and thoughts narrowed to a pinprick focus as she concentrated on the battlefield before her. This, _this_ she missed. Here was the excitement and action she had been craving. From across the room, a demon roared.

Blood magic. The mages must have gotten fearful that she was winning, which she was, she noted with distant pride. Already six lay dead and two more mortally wounded. The remaining three warriors guarded the mages as they poured more of their own blood into their spells. Liviana readjusted the hilts of her blade, and lunged straight towards the nearest rage demon, ignoring the scent of lava scorching her leathers.

“Looks like someone started the party without me.”

Her stomach lurched into her throat, the remnants of her supper threatening to make its way up again. _That accent, no!_ Decapitating the demon before her, Liviana spun around to face the newcomer. It was… an elf? A surprisingly tall elf with odd, glowing tattoos and a shock of white hair, wielding a greatsword that was longer than she was tall. The messy-haired man from earlier was behind him, along with the Rivaini and the dwarven author.

“Mind if we join in?” 

“Suit yourself,” Liviana turned her attention back to yet another demon that materialized from its host, grunting as she ducked a fiery set of claws. The elf took up a position just behind her, his back facing hers, keeping guard. It was a strange feeling, to be protected. The other mercenaries she had traveled with could have cared less if she had died on the job; it would just mean more coin for them. The last person who had had her back like this was Calliope. And now here was yet another elf in her place, speaking with the same, polished accent.

Hissing as a streak of lightning screamed past her head, Liviana whipped her head around, ready to pounce. Except that bit of magic didn’t come from the two mages. It was that man she had met earlier. That was no quarterstaff on his back, it was a mage's staff. _The Tevinter elf traveled with a mage? Curious and curiouser._ Maybe he wasn’t an escaped slave, like she had initially assumed. Perhaps that human was his master.

Hanging back as the elf withdrew his sword from the last man’s ribs, Liviana rifled through the pockets of the dead until she found what she was looking for, taking a set of keys and unlocking the cages. “Go,” she told the people within.

“Thank you, serrah,” a few of them cried. “The Maker must have sent you. Thank you, thank you!”

The rest merely fled. Leaving only Liviana and the four others in the room.

She moved from body to body, trying to ignore the whispers and stares she could feel on her back. Her boot squelched in the pile of entrails as she knelt beside one man that was still barely breathing, and drew her dagger across his throat. A small act of mercy.

“You killed them,” the elf stated after a few pregnant moments of silence. “Don’t like slavers?”

“They’re not my particular cup of tea,” she replied dryly. His eyebrow shot up at the sound of her accent, so similar to his own.

“A ‘Vint who doesn’t like slavers? Fascinating,” he drawled.

“I’m not a ‘Vint,” she snapped back, turning to face him.

“So you’re…”

“Same as you, I suspect.”

“Would someone like to fill me in with what’s going on?” The disheveled mage cut in testily.

“She’s an escaped slave. Like me. Fenris,” the elf added. “Formerly of Danarius.”

“Liviana. Formerly of Ludus Atropos.” There had been a time when she had tried to reclaim her birth name, but the sound of Evelyn was too foreign to her ears. Liviana she had been named by Varinius, and Liviana she would probably die.

“A gladiator,” Fenris noted. “That explains much. What are you doing in Kirkwall?”

“Caravan job I was on brought me here.” Returning her swords to their sheathes, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I was looking for odd jobs, maybe another job running supplies, when I got offered this one. Thought it was for smuggled goods. It was only when I came here that I realized…”

“Slavers.”

“Slavers,” she agreed.

Glancing around at the carnage that surrounded them, Fenris took a step closer to her. “So are you still looking for work? If you don’t have anything else going on, why don’t you stick around?”

“Stick around what? Around _him_? A mage?” Liviana jerked a thumb towards Hawke, who jumped, and tried to hide his staff behind his back. She rolled her eyes. The damn thing was taller than him, did he really think she didn't know what it was for? “Whatever for?”

“Lots of scum like these,” Fenris kicked one of the bodies with a spiked boot. “Also, Kirkwall has a slight blood mage infestation. We could always use the extra help in clearing them out. And…” His eyes raised to hers. “My former master still tracks me. I could use an extra eye on the horizon.”

Pursing her lips, Liviana studied him and his tattoos. It was true, that the fight tonight had brought her a sense of satisfaction that she had missed- the knowledge of a job well done. Was this the challenge she had been looking for? To hunt down slavers and blood mages? But Kirkwall, of all cities? What else did she have? “...I suppose,” she shrugged. “Got nothing better to do. But he,” she pointed at the mage, “Stays away from me. And any other mage friends you happen to have.”

“Hawke’s the only one.”

“I’m not that bad!” Hawke protested. “Am I?”

“You’re a mage,” came the flippant reply.

“Give her time, Hawke,” the dwarf elbowed him. “She’ll come around. I mean, Broody willingly tolerates you, so anything’s possible.”

“So we are keeping her?” The Rivaini’s eyes gleamed.

“Down, Isabela,” Fenris snorted. “You got a place to stay?”

“I was going to get a room at the Hanged Man, unless you know of a better place.”

“Hanged Man’s the best in town,” Varric nodded his agreement.

“I have room, if you’re interested,” Fenris ignored him. “Took over my old master’s estate up in Hightown. Plus,” his grin turned feral, “He left his wine cellar. And several bottles of Marothius 8:71 red and Aggregio Parvali.”

Liviana’s eyes lit up. “That’s all you had to say in the first place. Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they finally meet. Yay!


	9. Wine and Comfort

“So. Why do you travel with a mage, anyways? You said you hunt down blood mages, so obviously you don’t like them.”

A soft pop echoed through the mostly empty chamber, the sound muffled by the layers of dust that coated almost everything save the table before them. Holding the cork in his teeth, Fenris poured wine into two glasses he had procured from somewhere in the ransacked mansion. The Hightown estate was not what Liviana had expected. Instead of rich tapestries and elegant, carved tables, there were bits of plaster missing from the ceiling and walls, tiles cracked and chipped, and furniture upended and scattered all over the floors. Looters, Fenris had told her, from before he had laid his claim to the place. “Lucky for us, the thieves didn’t recognize the quality of the wine,” he had smirked earlier.

She took the glass he offered her, leaning against the sofa with a contented sigh, the fire roaring in the hearth at her feet. It had been so long since she had tasted wine this rich, for it seemed most of the Marches preferred whiskey, or that Void damned watered down ale that was more than plentiful at every tavern she stopped in. The fact that she was not surrounded by the unwashed stench of bodies and their associated fluids was an extra bonus. And no raucous laughter or drunken propositions either, only the sound of Fenris’ steady movements and the crackle of the fire. This was basically heaven.

“Hawke is… different,” Fenris replied slowly, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of the reason himself. “So far. He helped me take down several bounty hunters that Danarius sent after me, and has continued to aid me. I owe him. He’s shown no inclination to resort to blood magic, despite his tendency to be lenient and sympathetic toward the mages of the Circle.”

“Yet,” Liviana muttered. “He’s a mage, Fenris. The temptation will always be there for him. And we’ve both seen what happens when mages give in to their desires and fears.”

“Yes.” His low voice took on a darker edge. “We have.”

“There was a boy, another slave.” Maybe it was the wine, or the fact that she finally had met someone with whom she could be open about her past life, but Liviana had an overwhelming urge to suddenly tell this elf about her past, about the darkness that she had seen. “He was bought a bit older, came from Antiva. Pretty little thing. If he had been taken a bit younger, well. He might have been more obedient. As it went, he was not.”

“He escaped?”

“Tried to. Multiple times. His master had paid too much for him to simply get rid of him, some noble’s brat, one of the magister’s political enemies I think. So he- they _changed_ him. Used blood magic to warp his mind. The magister was my dominus’ brother. I stood guard in that chamber while they took his will from him. Such a bright, spirited boy. Reduced to a lap dog who willingly crawled across hot coals to lick his master’s boots at a gesture.” The memory of that day washed over her in an icy wave. She shivered despite the heat of the fire. “It was a warning to me, too. To not fuck up, or this could be you. There were other instances, of course. One of the mageling recruits turned into an abomination in their sleep. The barracks burned that night. And two mages I remember, both of them convicted of conspiring against their owner. They were thrown into the arena with me and another gladiator, armed with only a dagger.” If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the unholy shrieks at the mages’ bodies were torn apart from the inside from the demons they had summoned, smell the unique aroma of melting flesh.

“There is always a risk.” A heavy sigh deflated his shoulders, and he ran one tattooed hand through his hair. “But I owe Hawke. At least, if something ever happens, I’ll be there. Not to mention those other two mages he travels with. If any mage ever needed to be watched, it’s those two. How he tolerates them, I will never understand.”

Liviana mouth curled into a moue of disgust. “More? I thought you said Hawke was your only mage friend?”

“He is. The rest are his friends, not mine. You’ll love them,” he snorted in a tone that indicated she would more than likely not. “One’s a hairsbreadth away from becomes a complete abomination, and the other, a Dalish elf who dabbles in blood magic. But for some reason, Hawke trusts them. He’s a good man, Liviana. At the very least, he tries. And he’s always willing to help kill a few more slavers while we’re at it. He’s even helped the templars a few times in tracking down escaped mages.”

The obvious respect for the mage lingered in his voice. Raising an eyebrow, Liviana stared at the elf as she realized something else. “You care for him.”

Fenris’ skin flushed a dark, rosy red, right to the tips of his ears. “I… It is complicated.”

“A Tevinter elf freely cares for a human mage.” Her head flopped back onto the couch, releasing a puff of dust into the air. “Maker. Now I’ve seen it all.”

“I don’t… Never mind. It’s not relevant,” he grumbled. “The city also relies on him to help keep the peace with the Qunari, if you care to know.”

“Mindless beasts,” she dismissed the entire race with a wave. “Although quite formidable. Has there been much fighting with them?”

“Tal-Vashoth roam the area around the city, and they’ve been known to attack travelers, so we’ve had a few run-ins with them. But within the walls? No,” Fenris shook his head. “It has not come to that yet, and hopefully will not. I don’t fancy getting caught in another war with the Qun. I was there, on Seheron, you know. Right before I escaped. It was...”

“Hot?” Liviana supplied. Taking the bottle of wine, she refilled both of their glasses.

He chuckled, holding out his cup for her. “Yes, that it was.”

“So what do you do around here anyways? Beside trail after your pretty boy mage,” she added impishly. A lesser man might have flinched and cowered at the sight of the formidable elf’s dark scowl, but Liviana just smirked.

Realizing that rebuffing her would probably prove futile, Fenris refused to dignify the latter half of her question with a response. “I work the docks. Decent enough pay, and nobody notices another elven dockhand. You learn all sorts of interesting tidbits. Like who’s greasing the dockmaster’s hand for a chance to slip out some illegal cargo, where the warehouses are, how many people they’ve stolen. Fascinating gossip. You could join me. Or do pretty much anything else, seeing as how you’re human. Aveline could find you work.”

“Who’s Aveline? Was she the dark haired one tonight?”

“No, that was Isabela. Be careful, that one bites. Hard,” he grinned.

“Kinky.”

“Aveline is the guard-captain of the city.”

“Me?” Liviana barked a sharp laugh. “A guard? Ha! No thanks. I’d rather work the docks.”

“Hawke has some connections with smugglers, and there are few merc companies around, too. Ethical smugglers,” he added at her questioning glance. “Athenril doesn’t deal in flesh.”

“I’ll take a look around tomorrow, see what I can find.”

The hours passed in what felt like a hazy dream. Never before had she felt so… normal. Sitting here on the floor in a dilapidated mansion, polishing off wine bottle number three, or was it four? Talking with this stranger as if she had known him for years instead of the seven hours it had been. It was comfortable, almost like- friendship? Calliope was the only one she had ever called friend in her entire lifetime, and that relationship had always been overshadowed by their status. Could she learn to be friends with him and perhaps the others? Not that mage, of course, but the pretty Rivani and the dwarf at least?

“What?” Fenris noticed her face growing pensive.

“Just thinking. How weird this all feels,” she spoke down into her glass.

“You’ve just been running caravans ever since you escaped, haven’t you? Never stayed in one place for very long?” She shook her head, and Fenris nodded his understanding. “I was the same, before I came to Kirkwall. Moved from town to town, always trying to stay ahead and away from the bounty hunters. It’s a lonely life, but a damn sight better than being a slave.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“Got tired of running. I figured I’d face them and stand my ground, fight. Worked out so far, although I have yet to find Danarius. I did kill his apprentice the other week though. That was satisfying,” his lips curled in a half smile, the hint of a shadow behind it. “Only a matter of time before he comes after me himself. And I’ll be ready.”

“I don’t know if anyone is after me,” Liviana frowned down at her knees, drawing them into her chest. “I don’t know who else survived from the ludus, what they told whom. Varinius is dead, and most of his mages and guards along with him. If anyone were to seek justice for him, it would probably be his brother, Magister Volesus. I haven’t had an inkling of anyone trailing me yet, though.”

“If they do, I’ll gladly lend my blade.” He raised his glass in the air, toasting his solemn vow.

“Guard my back and I’ll guard yours?” Liviana huffed. “It’s been awhile since I trusted anyone beside me, let alone behind me.”

“Well, if you’re willing to try, you know where to find me,” Fenris nodded. “I think I’m going to turn in now. Pick any room you’d like, they’re all open. A bit dusty, but I daresay it’s a sight better than the Hanged Man.”

“You don’t have to convince me.” The glass softly clinked against the edge of the table as she fumbled with the elegant stem for a second, her vision slightly blurry. Smiling at her own ineptitude, Liviana managed to set the glass down and headed for the door, pausing for just one more moment to call back, “Quiescas quam optime, Fenris. And… thank you.”

He glanced up from the sofa and inclined his chin towards her. “Placideque quiescas, Liviana.”

All of these rooms were so large, Liviana thought to herself as she closed yet another door. She had long since gotten used to sleeping alone, but the utter silence that reigned in this manor combined with its sheer size was unnerving. No sound of crickets, no shouts or laughter, nothing. There wasn’t even a strong enough wind to make the windowpanes rattle. 

Clattering down the stairs into the kitchen, she found what had once been the servants quarters, and smiled as she walked into a small chamber that had just enough room for a bed and a dresser with an intact porcelain bowl and ewer on top. Back out in the kitchen, Liviana grabbed a bucket and pumped a bit of water from the well into it, taking another minute to rummage around the cabinets until she had acquired a couple relatively clean towels. Stowing her pack under her bed, she set to work scrubbing herself off as best she could, leaving her hair up in her usual braids to be washed at a later date, maybe tomorrow if she could manage it. Thus clean for the first time in weeks, Liviana collapsed down into the bed, and instantly fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

She could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quiescas quam optime - sleep well  
> Placideque quiescas - sleep well and peacefully
> 
> Short chapter, but I might have another coming later today to make up for it.


	10. Vows of Faith

“Who bought the honor of a proud guard of Kirkwall and made him a drunken mabari bitch?”

Liviana straightened in her seat, the chess board in front of her now forgotten. Across from her, Varric glanced up at the sound of the voice that boomed through the Hanged Man and chuckled. “That poor sod’s about to shit himself. Then again, I would too if Aveline was looking at me like that.”

“Aveline? That’s the guard-captain?” The man that Aveline had grabbed by the shirt whimpered and fell back as she released him with a sneer, a string of frantic words and pleas falling from his mouth. Turning to Hawke, Aveline said something that Liviana could not hear over the din of the tavern, while a tall man in surprisingly pristine armor and a bow strung across his back responded with a concerned frown. Fenris stood silently beside them all with his arms crossed. “And who’s that?”

“Choir boy? He’s a brother in the Chantry, also known as His Highness Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven. Or he would be, if he ever got off his pretty ass and actually tried to get back his city,” Varric snorted. “Come on, let’s go see what the ruckus is about.”

_What kind of man is this Hawke that has the guard-captain, a pirate, a prince, and a whatever Varric does trailing after him?_

“Fucking templar,” Hawke was muttering under his breath as the two approached. “With the Grand Cleric’s seal? We’re trying to avoid a war, and these fools are doing everything in their power to instigate it. Oh, hey guys.”

“What was that?” Varric asked.

“A Qunari delegation went missing literally on the Viscount’s doorstep. And now the trail leads to a templar, with the Grand Cleric implicated and-”

“Her Holiness would never sanction such a thing,” the Starkhaven prince cut in vehemently. “She is far more wise than that. It has to be someone else.”

“Right,” Hawke sighed. “Well, either way, we’re headed to the Chantry. Want to come?”

“I have other things to do tonight,” Varric waved off his offer.

“Right. Serah Liviana?”

“Me?” Liviana pointed to herself.

“Sure. You’ve got to be bored, running around standing guard down in the docks all the time. This should be far more interesting.”

“Interesting, he says,” Aveline replied dryly. “What he means is that whenever Qunari and Hawke are involved along with the Chantry, everything goes tits up, so bring extra firepower. Actually, whenever Hawke is involved with anything. You’re the other escaped slave, aren’t you? From Tevinter?”

“Liviana,” the warrior nodded. There had been a few smaller groups of slavers that she and Fenris had decimated these over these last two weeks that she had been in Kirkwall, but for the most part, it was the same as before. Mundane, mediocre jobs that ended with her nerves all jittery from disuse and boredom. The lure of something more was just too hard to resist. But still, to travel with a mage… She eyed the man.

“Tell you what,” he grinned at the look on her face that he had seen often on Fenris, “If I turn into an abomination, you get first dibs on stabbing.”

“Hey,” Fenris cut in. “That’s just rude. You promised me the same, Hawke. Liviana, we’ll have to duel for it.”

“Fair enough.” The barest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of her lips, a reflex that had her immediately pressing her mouth together into a thin line to stifle it. 

Falling back behind the group, Liviana automatically assumed the rear, her eyes and ears sharp and waiting for any sign of ambush or attack from the gangs that roamed the streets at this hour. It wasn’t surprising. In a city such as Kirkwall, with refugees and the dregs of society packed into such tight confines, crime was inevitable as people fought over scraps just to survive. It had shocked her at first, to see humans living in such squalor and filth along with dwarves and elves during her travels, for in the Imperium, she had been kept well away from such levels of society. Amazing, how even as a slave, she could have been so sheltered. 

“So,” the prince fell into step beside her, “You’re like Fenris?”

“I am neither a man nor an elf,” she quirked her eyebrow up at him. “A fact which I should think was apparent. But I am a fugitive from the Imperium, if that’s what you were asking about.”

“I, uh, yes,” he coughed. “I could tell that you weren’t a man. Obviously, by your-” A bright blush stained his cheeks, visible even in the dark light. 

Liviana couldn’t help it- a soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Hawke stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed Fenris’ arm. “She’s laughing,” he hissed. Aveline just shook her head.

“She is a person. I’m told that most people do that when they find something amusing,” the elf replied, his eyes still looking ahead.

“Yes, but Sebastian being the one to make her laugh? Come on, you have to admit that’s unexpected.”

“If it helps,” Sebastian sighed, “She was laughing at me, rather than at something witty I said.”

Aveline smirked. “I like her.”

The streets of Hightown were dark and deserted, and Liviana took a deep breath as they entered the wealthier quarter. This particular sector was situated at a higher elevation, far away from the stench of the unwashed bodies, the tang of the metalworks in the forges, and the heady aroma of decaying fish of Undercity and the docks. It reminded her of the merchant streets in Vyrantium, quiet and almost forboding, the hint of danger lurking around every corner. 

“So,” Sebastian tried again after a few more minutes of silence, “Are you Andrastian?”

Liviana snorted. “No.”

“You don’t believe in the Maker at all?”

Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the road, she considered that question. Slaves weren’t allowed to attend services at the Chantry, of course, but most noble houses had a small shrine, if only to pay lip service to the Maker, and lay brothers that prayed over the souls of the slaves, that they may better serve their masters. But she had been taught, before she had been taken, to revere the Maker and his Bride by her parents, who were devout Andrastians. And she remembered kneeling by her cot at night, begging Andraste to take her away from the Imperium, to rescue her, to let her ordeal all be over. She also remembered the beating she got when the Doctore overheard her prayers, for worshipping the Bride was forbidden in Tevinter.

Liviana had stopped praying after that. Andraste did not intervene between her master and his whip. The Maker had abandoned his people, and Andraste did not care, if she even existed. She was a slave, like thousands of others before her, and she would die a slave. But now… “I do.”

“Just not Andraste?”

 _Kaffas, why is this so important to him?_ Stifling a groan, she glared at the sight of Fenris’ smirk. Apparently, he had received this same interrogation at some point as well. “The southern countries ascribe to the Andrastian sect. I was taught the beliefs of the Imperium, that Andraste was just a mortal mage. She is not worshipped, merely respected.”

“The blasphemy of the Imperial Chantry and its Black Divine,” Sebastian grumbled. “Andraste is indeed the Bride of the Maker, and-”

“I once prayed to her,” Liviana interrupted his sermon in a tight voice. “She did not hear me. I stopped after that.”

“Perhaps there was a greater purpose in letting you-”

This time, Liviana ground to halt, one foot on the bottom stair that led up to the Chantry, and whirled around while the bronze statues overhead watched the city with their blank, unfeeling stares. “A greater purpose? Tell me, what greater purpose was there in letting a child be ripped from the arms of her parents and sold like a druffalo at market, weighed and groped and prodded the same as an animal? What greater purpose was there when I was shoved into an arena and forced to kill innocents and captives for mere sport? What was the grand plan in being passed around from noble to noble for my talents, with no regards to my will or comfort? The Maker might exist, but he has abandoned us all and there is no one else to look to, except for ourselves. _Especially_ for the slaves.”

Silence reigned over the small group as they stared wide eyed at the petite woman who was all but bristling in her indignation. Pulling her palm off of his chestplate, where she had been shoving him back, step by step, Liviana made a small grunt of annoyance, and turned back to the stairs.

“You were not born into slavery?” Fenris’ low voice carried over to her as they climbed.

“No.”

Hawke shifted beside them. “How old…?”

“Does it matter? Old enough to remember a life before, young enough to not be able to do a damn thing to defend myself. Here’s your Chantry. I believe you had other matters to attend to that did not involve every detail of my history?”

“I- yes. Come on, guys.”

A hand gently touched her shoulder as the rest shuffled ahead. “I’m sorry,” Aveline murmured quietly. “It’s not sufficient for what you have endured, but I am.”

Liviana shook off her hand. “Save it. I don’t need your pity.”

“As you wish.”

*** 

The Qunari had always made her uneasy. She knew of the neverending war between the horned race of the north and the Imperium, but the only ones she had ever seen in person were captives. They were stoic, strong, and wholly devoted to the Qun and their assigned role within it. Most people thought them odd, but Liviana had always thought that her status as slave wasn’t too different. Bound by the will of another to live a life that she had never chosen for herself- weren’t the Qunari the same? Except they did it to themselves. _Mindless beasts, indeed. Who willingly gives up their free will?_

And these Qunari that were stranded in Kirkwall, they were warriors, all of them. Sure, there had to be a few that were cooks or something that stayed within the compound, but the majority of Qunari that served on the dreadnoughts were part of the Antaam. 

Staring at the bodies, Liviana sighed. She wondered if they held the same fear as she did, to die while chained. To be cut down while trapped and restrained like these… A shudder ran through her.

“What a fucking mess,” Hawke muttered. “These fanatics are going to destroy Kirkwall.” Standing up from where he had been crouching, he turned to the others with him. “Fenris, would you mind going to the Viscount and informing him? Sebastian, you need to get that looked at.”

Sebastian winced as he shifted in place, one hand hold his shoulder. An arrow protruded from between the chinks of his armor. “It seems that way,” he sighed. “I’ll head back up, then.”

“Go to Anders,” Hawke suggested. “He’s the closest than any other healer. And take someone with you, if you were to get jumped in your condition, well. Won’t be pretty.”

“I’d like to stay here to wait on the Viscount,” Aveline glared down at the dead body of the templar that had started this massacre. “Liviana, would go with him?”

Shrugging, Liviana nodded. “Sure. Come on, ser prince.”

“You can just call me Sebastian,” he murmured as they headed up the stairs that would lead them back into the warrens of Darktown.

“Whatever.”

“Mistress Liviana.” Shuffling up next to her, Sebastian’s shoulders slumped a bit. “I would like to apologize for upsetting you earlier, and for prying into matters that were none of my business. It was uncouth of me and I humbly beg your pardon.”

Glancing up at him, Liviana was mildly surprised to see only wholesome honesty in his bright blue eyes. She thought he was being facetious with his apology, but he really was begging her pardon. Slowly, she nodded. “I accept. My past is a... sensitive subject. And I probably should not have responded the way I did.”

“No, the fault is mine. What you have experienced in your life, I could not even begin to imagine,” he replied softly. “I should have known better. It won’t happen again, I swear to you.”

She had no idea how to respond to that earnest vow, so Liviana just inclined her chin in acknowledgement. Silently, they walked together through the old mining tunnels, their boots squelching through Maker knew what. The distant drip of water could be heard from every angle, and in the corners, rats scurried to and fro, searching for whatever scraps they could find while avoiding the permanent residents of Darktown who liked to catch them for food.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Liviana said out of nowhere as they turned a corner. “To have faith such as yours. In fact, I envy it. To believe in something with all that you are, to have a purpose for your life… Not all of us have that.”

“You could. The Maker accepts all as they are, provided they are willing to change their hearts,” he replied. “He did for me. I wasn’t always like this, you know. I was a wild boy, wicked and willful. But being pledged to the Chantry, it was…” He sighed, a look of almost dreamy contentment on his face. “Life altering, to say the least.”

“So why are you here, then?”

He paused. “Duty. And uncertainty. The throne of Starkhaven falls to me, but I’m unsure whether I should fight for it or not. I pledged my troth to the Maker and Andraste, but I don’t know if my oath would be better served as ruler or a simple lay brother. I could change so much if I were in power, help so many more, but is it right? To subject my people to conflict just so I could assume the throne? I’m not sure what- ah!” Stumbling as a particularly sharp wave of pain washed over him, Sebastian leaned his uninjured side against a wall.

Liviana scooted under his good arm and draped it around her shoulders. “I know I’m not that tall, but you can lean on me. I’m stronger than I appear.”

Gingerly, Sebastian settled some of his weight on her. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

Despite the dim light that permeated the tunnels, his eyes still shone bright and clear, such a brilliant shade of blue. Offering him a half smile, Liviana slowly walked with him. An imp of mischief seized her. “So when you say you pledged yourself to the Maker, do you mean…?”

She could almost feel the heat of his blush radiating from his skin. _Oh, this is fun_. “Mind, body, and soul.” There was the barest hint of emphasis on body, she noted.

“Shame,” Liviana sighed. “You have such pretty eyes.”

“I believe Isabela said the same thing to me just the other day,” came the mutter. 

“Isabela says a lot of things. But she was right about that. I always enjoyed my stops in Starkhaven, you know. It’s a beautiful city, probably the prettiest in all the Marches. And slightly less pretentious than the few towns in Orlais that I’ve stopped in.”

“You’ve traveled a lot, haven’t you?”

“Mm,” she nodded. “Never really stayed in any place for too long, though. Maybe three weeks? I’ll have been in Kirkwall for four weeks soon though. Say. Do you know where I’m supposed to be taking you? I feel like we’re lost.”

Pointing up ahead, Sebastian directed her through a few more tunnels before the path opened up into a larger chamber that was open to the sea on one side. The breeze helped a bit with mitigating the odor. A good spot for a healer’s clinic. Liviana pushed open a door at the end of room.

“Vael,” a blond man dressed in robes called out as soon as they entered, already gathering his supplies. “Not watching your back, were you? You there with him. Can you snap off the arrow and pull it out? I’ll stop the blood flow.”

Standing in front of Sebastian, Liviana quickly broke off the head of the arrow, and then reached around towards his back. “Breathe,” she warned him, and at his nod, yanked.

“Bloody void!”

“And here I didn’t think you even knew how to swear,” the man said with a snort, laying his hands over the wound. “Anders, by the way,” he inclined his chin towards Liviana.

She jerked back as she felt the telltale tingle of the Fade being pulled together. _Mage. That’s right. Fenris said Hawke ran around with two other apostates. One was an abomination, and the other, a blood mage. So which one is this?_

Suddenly much more aware and alert, she held back as Anders halted the stream of blood just long enough to get Sebastian’s armor and padding off, stripping off his tunic until his shoulder was left bare and he could clean the gaping wound. He was thorough and gentle, she would give him that. But appearances could be deceiving.

Anders sighed. “Will you stop watching me like that? I’m not going to turn into a demon, I’m just healing him.”

“Can’t be too careful,” Liviana tossed back. 

“You’re the new one, aren’t you? Running from Tevinter, Hawke said?” At her nod, his lips curled up in a wry smirk. “Lovely. A female Fenris. At least you’re prettier than him.”

“I remember now. You’re the abomination.”

Sebastian glanced up. “Is that why you’re so angry all the time? The demon inside of you?”

“It’s not a demon,” Anders snapped with an exasperated huff, an indication that he had been through this explanation several times before. “It’s a spirit. There’s a difference.”

Ignoring him, the archer continued, “Did something happen to you in the Circle? I understand there were problems in Ferelden.”

“Demons don’t have to be involved when a mage is simply unhappy, you know,” Anders shot back. “It’s not about Uldred. It’s not about being beaten, or raped by a templar. That does happen, but I’ve been fortunate.” Liviana blanched at that. It was not surprising, but still. Abuses of those in power did not sit well with her. But surely it was a sporadic event. Similar things happen to others every day, and while it was horrible and deserving of punishment, it did not mean that mages should not be controlled. “It’s a larger principle,” Anders continued, oblivious to her ruminations, “The freedom every man, woman, and child born in Thedas have as a natural right.”

Sebastian flexed his newly healed arm. “You were given to the Circle. I was given to the Chantry. Hawke was driven from his home by darkspawn. Liviana was sold into actual slavery. None of us are free.”

A small frown tugged at her mouth. No one deserved to be a slave, that much she believed. It was why she often went out with Fenris to disrupt the slavers that operated out of Kirkwall, freeing the captured and slaying the scum. But being out here now, wasn’t she free? Free to go anywhere she wanted, be with anyone who caught her eye, choose any job that was available? And Sebastian, well, he could break his oath to the Chantry if he wished. And Hawke, from what she had heard from the man as well as Varric, had done admirably in forging a new life for him and his family here in Kirkwall. But the mages…

Fenris had told her about the southern Circles. Mages, taken from their families as children as soon as they showed magical aptitude. Bled for a phylactery, so that they could be hunted no matter where they fled to. Forbidden to marry, or raise their own children, or even leave the Tower in most cases. Weren’t they slaves as well? Was this right?

 _They’re mages_ , she scolded herself. _You’ve seen what they can do. It’s for the safety of everyone else, it’s not like the templars take joy in locking them away. It’s necessary. Mages cannot be trusted with their own freedom, or all of Thedas would end up like the Imperium._

Wouldn’t it?


	11. The Lure of Temptation

The plaster on the walls rattled as a resounding crash echoed through the manse. Grabbing up the sword that she had been polishing, Liviana glanced across the room at Fenris, who nodded in silence and took up his own greatsword. The pair of them crept towards the door, only to hear-

“Fenris! Liviana! Are either of you here?”

Hawke’s bellow echoed within the empty house. Liviana lowered her weapon along with Fenris, and rushed to the top of the landing. Never before had she heard such urgency in the mage’s voice, and by the look of her companion, neither had he.

“Hawke?” Fenris called down. “What’s going on?”

Pacing back and forth, his fists clenched at his side, Hawk snarled in a low voice, “Lilies. My mother received them today, and Gamlen says she didn’t show up. Ninette, Mharen- they all got white lilies, just before they- before they…” His head drifted down for a split second, then jerked back up. “We have to go. _Now_.”

Liviana didn’t quite understand what was going on, only that his mother must be in danger. Sprinting back to her room to grab her other weapons, she heard Fenris say as she walked back in, “We should get the others. There will be danger, and-”

“No! We have to go now. There’s no time! Liviana,” striding up to her with giant, clomping steps, Hawke grabbed her shoulders, “You said you were the best in the Imperium. I know how you feel about me, and mages in general. But my mother is… she is all I have.” His voice broke, and along with it, Liviana’s heart oddly enough, clenched. “Will you help me?”

There was no hesitation when she nodded. “I will.”

Relief sagged at him, and he let out a breathy sigh. “Thank you. We’re heading to Lowtown first. Maybe someone there saw something.”

No one spoke as they raced through the dark streets of Hightown, past elegant estates of the nobility and richly appointed merchant houses. Pale gray stone hung with brightly colored flowers and banners blurred into nothing, slowly decaying into the ramshackle buildings that marked the edge of Lowtown. Liviana’s eyes darted into the shadows. Waiting, watching, searching for any sign that would lead them to Hawke’s mother.

Most of her weeks in Kirkwall had so far been spent in the company of Fenris and Varric and Isabela, drinking in the Hanged Man while Varric attempted to teach her chess, playing cards with the others. Occasionally, Hawke would pop in to kill a few hours with his friends, but he was always respectful of Liviana’s boundaries and her unease of what he was. Still, she had learned a bit about the man. Son of an apostate and a noblewoman who forsook her home and wealth to be with the man she loved, eking out a living on a tiny farm in Ferelden. A brother who was now a templar and a sister who had been taken to the Circle a few years back. So much of his life had been so normal. Liviana wasn’t sure what she thought of that yet.

A street urchin pointed them down an alley with the gift of a bit of silver, and Hawke cried out. “Blood! But hers or someone else’s? There’s a trail, come on!”

Instinct was beginning to kick in. It was a trait that she had honed over the years in the arena. A single glance could tell her whether her opponent was bluffing and all false bravado, or if they truly required her concentration and focus. Could she put on a show for the crowds, or would she need every ounce of her skill to make it out alive? Right now, every alarm bell in her head was clanging. 

She smelled their destination before it came into view. Hot, acrid fire and plumes of heavy smoke from the smelting ironworks billowed up into the night sky, blocking out the stars and moons in a curtain of crimson and gray. 

“The foundry,” Fenris muttered as they spotted a thick, rusting door. “This is where we found the remnants of the first victim. Be wary. Blood magic and demons have been involved here before, and it would not surprise me if shades greet us again.”

 _This fucking city_. She nodded, and unsheathed her swords as soon as they stepped inside the musty building. Why did this city have more blood mages than anywhere she had been, except Tevinter? A silly question, obvious as soon as she asked herself. Mages turned to using their blood in only a few circumstances; they desired more power because they simply craved power itself, were afraid of something, or were desperate. And of all those motivations, fear was perhaps the strongest.

Descending through a trap door that Hawke cursed himself for missing earlier, the group slowed their pace as they stealthily made their way through what looked like living quarters, with a bed and table and other furnishings decorating the large room.

The silence pressed down on them as Fenris paused in front of a faded portrait that hung on one wall. “Is that… Leandra?”

Barely slowing his steps, Hawke peered at it for a second, then shook his head, his black, scraggly hair falling into his eyes. “No. But the resemblance is uncanny. Let’s hurry, I think we’re getting close.”

Liviana was no stranger to the horrors of battle, the smell of demon ichor, or the odd rasping sound of shades that was more disconcerting than their screeches. But what she was now confronted with in this room was beyond her. 

A woman, stitched together with the severed parts of others, the sutures still bloody and raw, lurching towards them.

A mage, tenderly caressing the monstrosity with a lover’s touch.

Hawke, his veins bulging in his straining neck and trembling limbs, every emotion under the sun vying for control in his face.

And demons. Maker, never before had she seen so many. Shades, demons of rage and desire, reanimated corpses- they all sprung from the bodies scattered around the chamber, pulled into being through the miasma of blood that swirled around the murderer. Her blades spun and slashed, Fenris’ massive blade sliced each wraith in two with a single swipe, and all the while, lightning and fire erupted from Hawke’s staff, tearing through the demons.

And still more came.

Despite the battle that raged around them, Liviana felt her gaze being torn away from the enemies before her and pulled towards Hawke. She had seen that look before, the terror and fury and desperation that clawed at his heart. It made even the best of warriors uncontrollable at best, sloppy at worst. But for a mage to feel it…

There was only one logical conclusion for this battle. The temptation would be too great to bear. Liviana only hoped that Fenris would not hesitate to strike the final blow. If he didn’t, she would.

Lungs burned with a deep inhalation, her focus settling on the rage demon in front of her. Her muscles screamed with the exertion. How long had it been since she had fought this vigorously? This was no show for the magisters, no simple skirmish along the highway- death was just one blow away, grinning at her behind the glowing eyes of the demons. _This will not be the way I go_ , Liviana swore to herself. _Not after everything I’ve endured. I will not meet my end at the hand of a fucking blood mage_. But she knew she couldn’t keep this up, not with the lack of strict training that she had enjoyed in the ludus. All too soon, she would stumble or slip, and it would be over. Soon, soon-

Suddenly, the chamber fell silent. Panting, she glanced around and saw that, mercifully, none of the corpses were whole enough to rise again. Ichor and decaying flesh was splattered against every inch of her and the others, Fenris’s hair no longer the shocking white it had been, the strands tinged with rusted blood. With one last grunt, Hawke flung a dagger straight into the empty eye socket of a walking dead, and with a sickening crunch, the body fell and was still. It was done. 

And Hawke was still whole.

Wiping her face clear of debris, Liviana dragged her weary feet off to the side, giving Hawke space as the man cradled what was left of his mother, and said his goodbye. And for the first time in years, she thought of her own mother.

Was she still alive? Did she still think of the daughter that she had lost so long ago? What of her father, her brother? During her travels, Liviana had heard news of Bann Trevelyan and the kind rule of the man over his city, but was it still Bann Philip Trevelyan who held power? Or had it passed to Max by now?

What would happen if she went back? Would they even believe it was her? Could she even go back home, to that life?

Home. People said home was where the heart was. But where did hers reside? And Fenris? Did either of them have a heart left? What about Hawke, now that his mother was gone?

_Hawke. He never gave in to temptation, not even after all of that. Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought._

Now that was a sobering thought.

*** 

He hadn’t wanted to be alone, and yet he did not desire company, so Liviana and Fenris sat sprawled out in front of the roaring hearth while Hawke remained upstairs, just in case. A petite elf hovered nearby, a former slave, Fenris explained, who only knew how to serve, so Hawke had offered the woman a job and a place to stay. _Kind of him. If he had let her just make her own way in the world, she might not have made it. Even I miss my former life every now and then_. “Freedom after so long is hard,” Liviana murmured to no one in particular, listening to the faintly muffled sounds of Orana bustling about in the kitchen. 

“Would you rather go back?” 

One hand played with the end of her braid, her teeth caught between her lips as she considered the question. “No. But it’s not that easy either. To know only one life for so long… You caught a glimpse of freedom when you were with the Fog Warriors. I had no such vision. There was only a lifetime devoted to my master and training. And suddenly, I had to fend for myself. Hunting, cooking, learning how to live on my own. It was a shock, to say the least. My world was clearly defined as a gladiator. Black and white, there were no shades of gray. And now everything, including my own perception of mages, has been upended.”

Fenris glances over at her. “Perception of mages?”

“Him,” she jerked her chin in the direction of Hawke’s bedroom. “Tonight. I’ve seen that sort of fear and desperation dozens of times. In the ludus, even in the arena, although blood spells are immediate grounds for disqualification and execution. But when a mage is cornered with no way out, it is what they always fall back on. And he- he didn’t. Even though the odds were high that we would all fail, even though I could practically taste his agony.” The carpet cushioned her head as she fell back onto the ground, eyes staring vacantly up at the high paneled ceiling. “A mage who resisted the allure of more. A mage with honor. I can see why you care for him.”

“He makes it easy,” came the quiet reply. “But it cannot be. I’m an elf, and fugitive on the run. What can I offer him?”

Liviana had no reply for him. For although she was human, she was the same as he. “Fenris,” she said after several minutes of heady silence. “After you kill Danarius. What will you do?”

“What do you mean?”

Turning to rest on her side, Liviana stared up at him. “Will you stay here in Kirkwall? Continue squatting in Hightown? Settle down?”

The leathers of his breeches rasped against the fine jacquard cushions as Fenris shifted in place, his eyes drifting away from hers. He propped his elbows up on his knees and rested his chin on his hands. “I… hadn’t given it much thought. I find I am unable to look to the future until my present is free and secure.”

Liviana snorted. “That’s a fancy way of saying you have no fucking idea.”

“Well, do you know what you want to do with your life?” He shot back with a scowl.

“Not a clue,” she sighed. “It’s why I stayed here, you know. I was bored of merc jobs, but it seems I’m doing the same here. What am I supposed to do? I mean, the societal expectation is for me to marry and have a brood of children, but I can’t see myself doing either.” Stretching her hand out in front of her, she studied the appendage for a second, then tore it from her sight and clenched her fingers into a tight fist. “Besides, what man would ever want someone like me? Just a murderous whore.”

“Sebastian says the sin falls upon the one who called for the murder, not the one who carried out the deed under duress.”

“Do you really believe that?”

He shrugged. “I admit, it’s slightly comforting. But I had the option to refuse, did I not? I killed the Fog Warriors, even though I knew it was wrong and did not wish to. However, the idea that there is still redemption available to me after everything I’ve done…”

_When we die, what will you tell the Maker? Will Falon’Din guide my soul or leave me to wander as a shade? Maybe, just maybe there’s something redeemable left in us._

“Ahhh,” Liviana flopped back over to stare up at the ceiling again. “Fuck you, Cal.”

“Pardon?”

“Not you, she-” Her head spun as she bolted upright. “Think I’m going to take a walk. See you later.”

Without bothering to wait for a reply, Liviana headed out into the streets alone. The world was dark and quiet, not even the normal gangs that roamed Hightown stirring this close to dawn. There was only her and the wind that gently whistled as it blew through the weathered buildings.

Hawke was a mage. This she knew to be fact. But he was a mage who resisted the urge to resort to blood magic, even in a time of great emotional upheaval and need. So what was he now? Was he still a mage? Or was he a person who had magic? Liviana had never considered there to be a distinction between the two, but now, she found that it mattered very, very much. Just ordinary people who had the ill fortune to be born with a connection to the Fade. 

What did this mean for the other two mages that Hawke called friend? Anders, the mage who devoted all his spare time to running a free clinic for the poor souls in Lowtown and Darktown, curing people who might otherwise die for nothing in return at all. Wasn’t that noble and honorable? But he played host to a demon. Or a spirit, depending on who she talked to. He was an abomination. An abomination who healed people from all walks of life, just because it was the right thing to do.

And Merrill. Liviana had refused to even go near the Dalish elf, unwilling to listen to Varric vouch for the woman, for she was a blood mage. And all blood mages were evil. But if she were so horrible, why would Hawke spend his time with her? And Varric and Isabela cared for her. Was Merrill not as bad as Liviana imagined her to be as well?

Everything was so confusing. Wandering without any particular destination in mind, Liviana was surprised to finally look up and realize she was standing at the bottom of the grand staircase that led up to the Chantry. She turned away to leave, and then stopped. _Maybe there’s something redeemable left in us._

Shaking her head at her sudden foolishness, Liviana jogged up the stairs and pushed the massive doors open. Thick coils of smoke from the burning incense rose to the ceiling, filling the entrance to the large chamber with a milky haze that lingered in her nostrils and eyes, cleansing her body and spirit so that she could approach the shrine of Andraste with a clear heart, or so the Sisters said. Liviana rather thought that there was not enough incense in all of Thedas to cleanse her heart and hands. She batted away the smoke, and stood before the golden statue. A pile of tapers lay nearby, so she picked one up, and set it alight in the flame of another candle.

Liviana stared into the tiny flickering light. What was she doing here? What could she pray for? Who would even listen? The Maker? Andraste? Neither had ever heard her before, why would they start now? Such folly, even after all this time, that she would believe either one of them was truly out there. Blowing out the taper, she stood.

“Wait. Don’t go.”

“Sebastian?” Liviana turned towards the sound of the familiar voice.

“Can I help with something? A prayer, perhaps?” His smile was warm and oddly comforting, causing a pit of unfamiliar warmth to bloom in her stomach.

“I…” The taper spun to and fro, creating little trails of smoke as she fidgeted with the wooden stick. “How do you know that someone is listening when you pray? That you’re not just talking into the void?”

His steps were oddly quiet without the armor she normally saw him wearing. Dressed in a simple robe of ivory, hemmed with threads crimson and gold, Sebastian moved to stand beside her, both of them gazing up at the statue. “Faith. I’ve seen how my life has changed for the better after I devoted myself fully to His service. And now, after I pray, peace fills me and I am comforted knowing that I am doing my best to please Him. Sometimes, just the act of unburdening yourself in spoken words helps alleviate the stress as well. If you like,” he reached out to touch her shoulder, “I would be honored to listen to whatever you have to say.”

When was the last time someone had touched her that gently? That man that she sold herself to for a bag of jerky and a pail of water? Or was it one of the magisters, who bartered with her dominus for a night of pleasure? No, Sebastian was not touching her like that, there was no intent behind the gesture. Was there? It was too much all at once, and Liviana jerked herself away from his touch. And felt instantly guilty at the look of disappointment that he tried so valiantly to mask. He really was quite handsome, she thought to herself. Fine bone structure, that smooth, cultured voice. And best of all, not a thing about him reminded her of Tevinter. Suddenly, she wished she had not shaken off his hand. 

“Sorry, I… No, thank you. At least, not now. Maybe later.”

His smile returned to his face. “Well, whenever you have need of me, I am yours.”

Cocking one eyebrow up, Liviana grinned. “Now there’s a thought. Whenever I have need of you, hmm?”

The blush returned with a vengeance. “N-not like that, I, um. Oh dear. I… think I need to pray. A lot.”

“...You know, you really do have pretty eyes.” Her smile reached her eyes for the first time in years and he could not have torn his stare away from her face if he had tried. Reaching up to pat his cheek, holding back her giggle at his flustered expression, Liviana slipped back out of the Chantry, and into the pale dawn's light. Her dilemma of faith could wait for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early chapter because I'm a bit ahead and I really like this one so yay


	12. A Friendly Offer

Wind streaked through the loose hair that had fallen free of her braid, bringing with it the scent of fish and salt and sea. Legs dangling down the side of the wall, Liviana stared down at the harbor from atop her perch, ignoring Aveline and Isabela below her, the both of them exchanging their usual barbs and insults just to pass the time.

“They’re really going,” Varric shook his head. “I half expected them to attack everyone after you killed the Arishok.”

“I did, too,” Hawke confessed. “But looks like they’re really leaving. It’s finally over.”

Leaning against the wall, Sebastian grinned up at the mage. “That’s over. But your job as Champion has just begun, Champion.”

“Shut it, Vael. Else I just shut you into a locked room with Isabela.”

“Ooh, I’d like that.”

“Now let’s see,” glancing down at the notebook in his hands, Varric scribbled a few more sentences down, his quill scratching against the parchment- “‘Their tails between their legs, horns veritably drooping with the blow to their pride, the Qunari slunk out of the docks in the wake of their defeat.’ Hmm. Not bad. Hey, Firefly. Wanna read this bit and see if it makes sense?”

Craning her neck around, Liviana frowned down at the parchment that he held out for her to take. “I’d rather not.”

“Come on,” he pleaded, “I need a fresh set of eyes on it. Hawke hates it all, and Isabela always complains about the lack of smut. You’re my last hope.”

Her shoulders fell with a deep exhalation. “I can’t read, Varric.”

“You can’t?”

Rubbing her shoulder where the ludus’ brand was still hidden, Liviana replied, “Slave, remember? There was never any reason for me to learn. And whatever I learned before I was slave, I’ve long since forgotten.”

“Well, damn. I could teach you, if you wanted.”

“Where? The Hanged Man’s common room isn’t exactly conducive to learning, you know,” she grinned dryly. She had been doing that more often to her surprise. Smiling. The little band of assorted individuals that had gathered around Hawke was a strange family to claim, but a family was what it was beginning to feel like. It hadn’t been that long since she had arrived in Kirkwall and met these people, but already she felt like she knew them better than she had her fellow slaves in the ludus. And now that the conflict with the Qunari was blissfully over, the last few weeks of stress lifting up off their shoulders, everyone was able to breathe and relax and laugh more easily. 

The last few weeks since Leandra’s death had also brought her closer to Hawke, as she was finally beginning to see him as a person first, then a mage. Not to mention that watching him run around the city and take control was oddly inspiring. One man, a mage and apostate, was able to unite the city and defeat the Arishok in single combat. They would be telling tales of his prowess for years to come. Well, Varric would be. And probably leave out most of the running and ducking and shrill yelping that Hawke did. It was for the best, really. 

“I could, too! Hawke has been teaching Fenris, and it looks like fun! And being a teacher was part of my responsibility, back in the clan, when I was to be Keeper and all. Ah. If you wanted me to, that is. I’m sure you probably don’t, since you don’t like me.”

Eyeing Merrill warily, Liviana shrugged and turned her attention back to the boats in the harbor below. While she accepted Hawke as her friend, becoming comfortable around Merrill and Anders was taking a bit more time. Years of ingrained prejudice and fear against magic was not that simple to overcome. “It’s enough that you’re trying,” Hawke had assured her a few weeks back. “I mean, you don’t glare at either of them with swords aimed at their throats anymore. That’s a start.”

“I… I’ll think about it.”

“I would offer my time to you as well, Liviana.”

“Ooh!” Isabela giggled and sauntered towards Sebastian, draping her arms around his neck and completely ignoring how stiff the man’s spine locked up at her touch. “Offering your services to her, are we? I have to admit, she is a pretty one. All that firm muscle and soft hair. And her tits, I mean-”

“Isabela,” Sebastian grit out. “That is quite enough.”

“Say, Livvy. Did your master oil you up ‘til you glisten? Apparently Fenris’ master didn’t, and I totally thought it was a thing.”

Rolling her eyes, Liviana huffed at the pirate, fully intending to let the woman feel the sharp side of her tongue, then hesitated as she considered how rigid Sebastian still stood. A wicked smile curved across her lips. “Not very often. But during the off-season, some of the magisters would arrange an… event. Gather the most attractive and desired gladiators into their home, oil us all up, and watch as we wrestled. Nude, of course. It was always such a slippery, wet mess. All those tangled, writhing, naked bodies sliding over each other. It’s a wonder that any of us ever came out on top.”

Sebastian let out a strangled cough, while the rest of the others just grinned at his discomfort. A few feet away, Anders glanced up from where he had been sitting in silence up to this point, content to just listen, his mouth dropping open by a tiny fraction. “Oh my.”

“That sounds like fun,” Isabela’s eyes gleamed. “Say, Fenris, you and-”

“ _No_.”

“Come on Fenris, you know I’ve been dying to see the rest of your tattoos. And the rest of Livvy, period.”

Glaring at the Rivaini, Fenris muttered to Hawke, “Remind me. Why are you friends with her again?”

“I have fantastic tits and ass. And I’m fun. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with me?”

Varric shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “You know I have rooms in the Hanged Man, right? Got myself a nice little study set up, and its relatively quiet back there, during the day at least. Could swing by late mornings or early afternoon and I could teach you.”

“Yeah?” Liviana pursed her lips for a couple seconds, then nodded. “Sounds like a plan, dwarf. Just let me know when.”

“I don’t have any plans for this afternoon, unless you need me, Hawke?”

“Nah,” Hawke waved him away. “The Knight-Commander wants to meet me for something or another up at the Gallows, but I can go alone. Drinks later tonight?”

“If the Champion commands…”

“I hate you. All of you.”

Reaching up to pat Hawke’s head, grinning at his pout, Liviana waved goodbye to the rest and jumped off the wall, Varric trailing not far behind. Her braid felt a bit off, so she decided to replait it as they walked. Stuffing the leather thong in between her teeth, she set to work combing out the thick waves with her fingers..

“I’m curious. I understand why you refused Daisy, but why not join Broody and Hawke instead? Or Choir Boy? I’ve seen the way you’ve both been eyeing each other,” Varric said after a bit. She could only imagine how many times he had reworded that in his mind, how much he had been dying to ask her about Sebastian.

“Mmrph.” She took the bit of string out of her mouth and shoved it in a pocket. “It’s their special bonding time. I didn’t want to interrupt whatever strange courtship dance they have going on.”

“Bonding time?” He laughed at that. “You mean the longing glances and puppy dog eyes they give the other when they think no one is watching?”

“The very same. You know, Fenris insists there is nothing there, and Hawke just curses under his breath if you ask him, but it’s apparently obvious to the rest of us. Well.” She paused. “Rest of us, minus Merrill, I suppose. And probably Sebastian.”

“Speaking of our resident prince...” Readjusting Bianca on his back, he eyed her expectantly.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back.”

“What?” Her boots softly skidded on the worn stones beneath her feet as she turned to frown at him. “Is that a thing?”

“It’s the original saying,” he grinned. “So spill. Call it my fee for teaching you. I need inspiration.”

An unenthused grunt slipped from her lips. Picking up her pace, Liviana crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “He’s pretty. But not for me.”

“And why is that?”

“Really? You mean, besides the vows he took?”

“I have a feeling you could tempt him out of those if you really wanted to,” he noted.

Snorting, Liviana shook her head. “He made a vow. I respect that. Also, I’m not… stable enough for a relationship, besides what little friendship I have to offer. I mean, look at me. I’m an escaped slave who might possibly be wanted for murder and destruction of an entire city block, who is squatting in a house with another escaped slave. I can barely cook, I have blood covered my leathers more often than not, I don’t know how to do things like fucking read or tend a garden or darn socks or sew anything beyond simple tears, or-” Her tirade broke off as she rounded the corner and paused on the top of the stairway that led into Lowtown. Arching her neck back, she stared up at the Chantry and Viscount’s Keep high atop the hill, overlooking the entire city. Such a stark difference in the elegance of those buildings when compared to the grimy, stained walls of the houses that surrounded them now. “It’s funny. If my life had turned out the way it was intended to, all I would know is how to sew and embroider and read.”

“Those are a noblewoman’s hobbies,” he observed, not daring to press her further despite the his overwhelming desire to delve deeper into her past.

Her face shuttered close, the unusually garrulous mood she was in falling flat and back into her typical clipped speech. “So they are.”

Cursing himself for even mentioning it, Varric let it go. There was more to her than just former slave, anyone could tell that at a glance. She was witty and flirtatious at best, but more often than not, violent and irreverent, marked by her years of battle on both her skin and soul. Yet behind the sarcasm that had endeared her to him, he saw the yearning in her eyes for something more than what she had become. He was willing to bet his reputation that she craved a life beyond that of a wandering vagrant and mercenary. And maybe the key lay in her past. _She was destined for the hobbies of nobility? Which means, she is a noble. I wonder who her parents are._ Were they close enough for him to ask?

Liviana was an odd one. Fenris was more than willing to talk about his time in Tevinter if pressed enough, but Liviana… Either she answered your question or she threw a knife at your head. There was no predetermining which would be the response you would get, either. And more often than not, she remained tight-lipped about her past self. Whatever she had done and seen haunted her to this day, and if he was the gambling sort, he’d put money on the notion that she thought herself too far gone to ever return to her family.

Well, judging by the mulish look on her face, he wasn’t going to get anymore on that subject out of her today. “So just because you don’t know how to cook, you’re going to ignore the call of true love? I didn’t think you were the type, Firefly.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I also haven’t decided how I feel about the Chantry. And Sebastian is very devoted to the Chantry.”

“Not Andrastian, I take it?”

“I… don’t know, to be honest,” Liviana glanced back up at the Chantry with its carved stone towers out of the corner of her eye. “There was never a focus on it before, especially the Andraste part. I just had some vague idea of the Maker and the afterlife, and well, with the life I led, it was better for my sleeping habits if I just didn’t think about all that. Are you Andrastian?”

“I suppose,” Varric scratched his head thoughtfully. “I’m definitely not the attend the Chantry services type, if that’s what you’re asking. Plenty of corruption to go around within the hierarchy, and I already have my fill of that dealing with the Carta. But I do believe in the Maker and Andraste. So I suppose what you’re saying is, there’s no potential for romance? Damn,” he heaved a sigh. “I had such great ideas, too. A forbidden love between the exiled prince and a fugitive slave on the run. People would’ve eaten that shit up.”

“Shit, is correct.”

“Hey, now!”

Smiling to herself as they continued on in companionable silence towards the tavern, Liviana felt her thoughts slip back towards Sebastian. It was true, she found the man attractive, and she had seen the way he looked at her and knew he felt the same. But physical attraction was where it ended. The prince was married to Andraste, for all intents and purposes, and she would not be the one to lure him away from his vows knowing how seriously he took them. And, like she told Varric, she was not relationship material. 

How long had it been, since she had taken another to bed? After escaping Tevinter and sleeping with that farmer, Brennan, there had only been one other, a man with pretty eyes in some tavern in Wycome. She had had a bit stronger liquor than she had been used to, and he had been so handsome and tempting. Then she had awoken in the middle of the night to him trying to sneak back into her room to steal her purse, and she had to slit his throat open. Tragic, really. 

Since then, no one. Not that she hadn’t found others attractive, but rather, her desire was gone. She was free to be with whomever she chose, do whatever she wanted, and Liviana found that she didn’t care about any of it. Her entire life had narrowed to just this; she worked, slept, and drank. 

_It’s possible_ , a tiny voice in her mind whispered, to start a relationship now. _Find someone, fall in love, settle down. Not with Sebastian necessarily, but with anyone._

Was that what she wanted? A husband, a home, children? As a noble, that was what would have been expected of her. To make an advantageous match, produce a brood of children to carry on her husband’s legacy, and manage his household. Be at her husband's every beck and call, like her mother had been, nothing more than an ornament for the man to show off at his whim. But now…

Now that sort of life just seemed like a different kind of slavery. It wasn’t for her. So what did she want?

“You’re looking far too serious for your own good, you know.”

Pushing open the roughly hewn door and grimacing when she pulled her hand away, the leather of her glove covered in something suspiciously sticky, Liviana swore under her breath. “Kaffas, this- It’s my face, Varric. We can’t all be rays of sunshine like you and Hawke.”

“Hawke? A ray of sunshine? If you like your sun with murder and mischief, then I supposed that’s right,” he chuckled. “Alright, Firefly. Make yourself comfortable,” waving at a low stone table engraved in the style of the dwarves, Varric rifled about in his desk and pulled out a sheaf of parchment and a couple of quills. “Let’s start at the beginning. We’ll have you reading in no time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be some Seb/OC stuff going on the side, but the main focus of the story is Liviana and eventually, Cullen. Debating on if I should tag it. Hmm.


	13. Flicker of Doubt

One finger trailed against the smooth parchment, underlining each word, rune by rune. A few feet away, an open window let in a gentle breeze that flowed down from the northern Vinmark range, bringing with it the bite of the last of the melting snow laced through the air. Liviana shifted in her chair. Both arms were propped up on one armrest and her legs draped over the other. Utterly relaxed for once, and dressed in a new cotton tunic and leathers instead of her armor, she was enjoying every second of this day where she had not a thing to do.

“Like moths who reach a bonfire, the Seven burned. But the Maker kept them from death, and He held the priests before his ther- throne and looked upon them, His long awah- awaee-”

“Awaited,” a voice from the doorway suggested.

“Awaited children at long last returned to Him. And He saw only hunger and envy in their hearts, only pride and deseer- deseh-”

“Desire?”

“Mm. Desire in their eyes, and He knew that they knew Him not. You know, I like the version of the southern Chantry much more than Tevinter’s. If you’re looking for Fenris, he said he’d be back by sunset or so.”

“Yeah?” Plopping down into a chair opposite hers, Hawke grinned over at her. “I was looking for him, but you as well. You’ve gotten a lot better at reading, you know. But the Chant? Isn’t that kind of heavy for practice?”

She shrugged. “Practice is practice. What did you need me for? Another job?”

“The Knight-Captain sent me a message," he sighed. "You know how they mages and templars have been at each others’ throats more and more recently?”

Liviana nodded. The toll it was taking on her friend, the newly dubbed Champion of Kirkwall, was evident in the faint lines around his eyes and mouth, and the slight sag of his shoulders. To his credit, he hid his annoyance and exhaustion well, though. The Knight-Commander sometimes used Hawke as a go-between in order to pacify the mages, knowing that the apostate was seen favorably to most. But it was strange. Most of the tasks that he was given that involved the mages, he would usually take one of the others that was inclined to be kind to them, or at least, neutral. Varric, Aveline, Isabela, Merrill. Not Fenris or Liviana, usually not Sebastian, and not Anders, as the abomination mage usually became too worked up and the demon within him would vie for control.

“Well, there’s been a situation.” Burying his face in his hands, a muffled groan slipped through his fingers. Lifting his head, he continued, “Some jackass templars scared a few mages, who then escaped. Now it looks like the trail leads to a slaving ring. The Knight-Captain wants to send his men in, but he’s afraid the mages will run again after the slavers have been dealt with, so he’s hoping a third-party can convince them to return. Like me. And I know you and Fenris are always down to play with slavers.”

Liviana raised an eyebrow. “I assume everyone else is incapacitated? I know Varric left town yesterday.”

“Yes,” he grumbled. “Aveline can’t come, Sebastian is busy, and Isabela went off somewhere. Merrill said she’d go, but I need more backup than just her. So I was hoping you and Fenris were available and willing?”

The heavy book closed with a soft thud. Leaning over her lap, Liviana stared into the fire. So far, Hawke had listened to her requests and kept her away from Anders and Merrill, only asking for her blade when neither of the other mages were tagging along. But if he was asking now, that meant he really needed her to come. She sighed. “You know, the Knight-Captain is assuming the mages were taken unwillingly. His main concern should be that mages asked to go.”

“They would do that? But why?” Hawke stared at her aghast.

“Mages, even as slaves in the Imperium are well treated. They probably have more freedom over their personal lives there than they do here in the Circles.” She shrugged. “The mages in our ludus generally had a good life. I mean, they were still property, but most were allowed to marry at least, and carry on relationships with other mages with our master’s leave.”

“I… hadn’t thought of that. Maker, this keeps getting more complicated.” Slumping in his seat, Hawke listlessly kicked at the threadbare rug with a booted toe.

“Why are you helping the templars, anyways? I thought you usually sided with any mages who escaped.” She said the last with an undeniable sneer curling up at her lips. Letting the mages run free and rampant was not something she generally approved of. Circles were there for a reason, and all of Thedas was better for it. Hawke was the only exception she had allowed.

He glanced over at her sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well, ah, I was going to, um… Let them go free after we dealt with the slavers.” The words tumbled over each other in his haste to speak. “But it’s different if they want to go. I suppose I can just tell the Knight-Captain I’m busy and the mages can leave with them,” he mused.

A loud boom echoed through the mostly empty chamber as Liviana threw the Chant of Light onto a rickety side table the legs wobbling precariously. “I don’t think so,” she replied flatly. “You’ve told me about it, so now I’m invested. We’re going.”

“But-”

“Hawke. Do you really think the mages are the only ones the slavers took?” Her glare cut into him, and he shrunk back into the plush chair, trying to hide from her ire. “They’re only a few out of probably dozens of others, others who don’t deserve to be stolen and sold and will not be treated well. We are going.” Rising to her feet, she crossed the room with measured steps and hint of impatience, then stopped at the door. “And those mages are going back.”

Hawke puffed out a breath of air and slumped even further down as she left the room. Maker, why were his friends always at complete opposites sides of one another?

***

The wind was even icier this close to the sea, covering them in a fine mist of ocean spray and sand that blew into her eyes. Drawing her hood down over her face to protect her skin from the needle-like cold, Liviana leaned against a nearby boulder next to Fenris, watching the approaching templars from under hooded eyes. A small group of six armed soldiers marched down the narrow path, and she briefly wondered how hard it was for them to walk through sand as weighted down as they were with all that heavy plate.

“Hawke,” a muffled voice echoed inside the helm the lead templar wore. Reaching up to his head, the man pulled it free and shook out his hair, close cropped golden blonde curls swaying as he blinked at the sudden light of the full moon. He offered his hand, and Hawke took it. 

“Knight-Captain,” the Champion inclined his head. So this was the Knight-Captain of the Gallows? Liviana had heard a bit about the man from the others. He hailed from Ferelden, same as Hawke and Aveline and even Merrill, the petite Dalish mage waiting off to the side, silent and far away from the templars. Varric had said he seemed a reasonable sort, a good balance for the harsh Knight-Commander. Either way, Liviana approved of what she saw. Tall, broad, confident, carrying his weight and weapons with an easy grace that spoke of years of training. And such pretty eyes, as well. _I should start a collection. ...That doesn't sound creepy at all._

“We’ve tracked the slavers to a cave not far off from here. If you and your companions would take point, we’ll follow behind. It would be greatly appreciated if you could convince the mages to return without further bloodshed. And not let them go free,” the Knight-Captain fixed Hawke with a stern glare, who just shrugged and offered his best innocent smile in return. 

“Why, Ser Cullen, I’d never!”

“Right,” Cullen snorted. “It’s just coincidence that one mage from that Starkhaven caravan came out front and surrendered but the rest escaped. Soft, pampered mages eluded you but full companies of thieves and mercs and bandits never manage to escape. I haven’t forgotten, Hawke.”

Whistling to himself, Hawke scampered off down the path that led to the cave, leaving the rest of them behind. Fenris glanced back at Liviana, who just shrugged. She liked this templar. “Want to go first? I’ll bring up the rear.”

The elf nodded, and started down the path, Merrill following close behind. “Why do they call this place by such a dreary name? I bet if they named it the Happy Coast, people would come here more often.”

Arms crossed over her chest, Liviana ignored the Dalish woman and kept walking, her eyes adjusting to the dim light as they entered the cave.

“You really don’t like me, do you?”

The former gladiator grunted.

“Fine, I get it,” Merrill sighed. “I’ll just go and catch up to Hawke, then.”

Warily watching as the elf receded from view, Liviana finally breathed as she was left alone. She half expected the mage to slice her hand open and to summon a demon just as they walked so she’d have someone to spew all her words at. _The night is still young, I suppose._

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance yet.”

 _Venhedis, we’re sneaking up on slavers. Why must everyone insist upon talking?_ The jangle of armor grew louder as one of the templars quickened his pace to match hers and offered her a friendly smile. “I’m Lawrence. Well, Ser Lawrence, I suppose.”

“Ser Lawrence,” she nodded. “And do all templars talk on stealth missions while clomping about like a clanging tin can, or is just you?”

A sudden flush burned his face a dark, mottled red, his voice stammering for an appropriate response. Another voice cut in and saved him the trouble. “Ser Lawrence, back in formation. My apologies, serah. He should,” Cullen glared back at his man, “Know better.”

Liviana regarded the blonde templar for a moment, appraising him with a sharp, sweeping glance. His curls bounced a bit as he walked, and she was struck with a sudden urge to run her fingers through his hair to see if it truly was as soft as it appeared. Shrugging, she turned back to the path. “He’ll learn. Or not. It's of no concern to me."

Iron whispered against leather as she slid her swords out of her scabbards. The way narrowed just up ahead, and a bend in the trail would make them all blind. It was a perfect place for an-

“Ambush!”

Like a lightning bolt from the storm that colored her eyes, Liviana shot out and carved her way through two bodies that came barreling down towards her from an unseen side path, spinning about and throwing her elbow straight into the throat of the third. One sword easily slipped through the chinks of his breastplate, and with a strangled gurgle, the slaver collapsed. Racing ahead to where Hawke stood at the entrance to a larger chamber, she counted. Six in the main room, with eight more on the upper terrace. To the left, she spied four more racing down a side tunnel. Liviana turned to Fenris.

“A game?” He bestowed upon her one of his rare smiles.

“Mm. You mind, Hawke?”

The mage waved them forward. “Have at it, crazies.”

“Hawke, you can’t possibly-”

“Ser Cullen. Just watch them.”

“Victoria aut mors,” Liviana bared her teeth in a feral grin, then pounced. Knees skidded on the packed sand floor as she ducked under the first blade, the man swinging his axe down upon thin air. Swinging her right sword around, she neatly severed his hamstring and thrust her left straight up into the gut of a second man that bore down on her, spittle flying from his mouth to cover her skin. Holding back her retch, she pulled her blades free and sprinted at the next. The crackle of magic filled the air, one of the Tevinter mages that always accompanied the slavers weaving his spell, sending tingles of electricity racing down her spine and into her limbs. Liviana spared a quick glance. Barrier. It would do no good to attack him yet.

On deft feet, she twisted out of the path of the arc of ice that exploded scant inches from her back, scattering tiny icicles as sharp as needles in a wide circle. The pain barely even registered, as well as the blood that welled up along her skin. For she was immersed in this was a dance of blades, a masterful performance that she had sorely missed. Leather boots scuffling in the sand, her muscles straining against the shifting surface, the quiet song her blades sang as they flew through the air, her breath, still and calm in her lungs, blood and steel swirling around her in a maelstrom of quietus. This is what she had been bred for. Death and destruction. And she thought she could have a life outside of it? A normal existence, full of love and laughter and family? Delusions, all of it. 

_A slave you were made and a slave you will die._

“Liviana, behind you!”

Jerking her sword out of a slaver’s neck, kicking his body down to the stained ground, Liviana palmed one her knives from the holster on her thigh and whirled around, letting the blade fly. Thunk. The Tevinter mage stared down in shock at the hilt protruding from his chest. He sunk down to his knees.

“Liv...iana,” he croaked. Blood dribbled out of his mouth, his gruesome smile painted red with his impending death. “I know that name. Victor...em. Someone is… looking for… you…” 

A last choke gurgled out of his throat before he collapsed face down into the ground. A frown creased her brow as she stepped forward and shoved his body over onto his back with one boot, leaning over to yank her knife free. No other sounds filled the chamber, save a last plaintive cry as Fenris slit the throat of one of the wounded, and the hushed whispers of the templars who stood in wide-eyed shock.

“Who is looking for you?”

One shoulder raised and lowered in careless disregard was all the answer Hawke received at first. Cullen stood just behind him, eyeing her almost apprehensively. Wiping her blades off on a bit of shirt that was not bloodied on a fallen slaver, Liviana stood and sheathed her blades. “How should I know? If I had to guess, it would be my master’s brother. Magister Volesus.”

“Liv…”

“If he comes for me, I’ll let you know Hawke.” A weary smile crossed her face, and after a second, he nodded.

“Alright. So who won the game?”

Fenris and Liviana looked at each other. Then both burst out into wide grins. “I forgot to keep score,” the elf chuckled.

“Same. We’ll call it a draw.”

“Bloody void, did you see that? They both sliced through all those slavers like they were butter!”

“Maker’s balls… I’m just glad they’re on our side.”

Glancing back at the templars, Liviana winked at them and flicked her braid over her shoulder. “Come on, the captured and your precious mages shouldn’t be too much farther away.”

They were, in fact, only two more rooms down, in a low ceilinged cave close to a small inlet that led straight into the Waking Sea. Only four stood guard in front of the cages, and these were dispatched with the brutal efficiency that marked the Champion of Kirkwall and his companions while the templar escort that had accompanied them waited just outside. Picking the locks, saying a silent thanks to Isabela and Varric who had spent several evenings teaching her the vital skill, Liviana swung the gates open.

Filthy and disheveled, the people, mostly elves with a few humans among them, immediately scattered and ran for the exit, shouting their thanks and prayers as they escaped.

“Wait,” Hawke called out to four robed individuals, three women and one man. “You’re from the Gallows, aren’t you?”

One of the women, a pretty girl with long red hair and wide green eyes nodded warily. “We are. You’re Hawke, aren’t you? The Champion? I would thank you for your aid, but as it is…”

“You wanted to go,” Liviana snorted.

“Yes,” another shot back. “Even as slaves, it would be better for us in the Imperium than back in the Gallows.”

“W-Will you let us go?”

Dropping his face into one gauntleted hand, Hawke sighed. “Look. I want to, I really do. But the templars are waiting in the next room for you, and-”

“You brought them here?” The redhead screeched in horror, tripping over her robes as she stumbled back. “No no no no no! I won’t go back! Why couldn't you have just let the slavers take us?”

“And what about the rest,” Fenris snapped. “Did everyone else in that cage with you deserve to be sold like cattle just because you wanted a longer leash? Selfish, every last one of you.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” the last mage whispered, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders in greasy strands. “How every word and action is watched, how they take what they want from you and threaten you with the brand if you tell. They- He-” Her thin shoulders shook with suppressed tears that teetered on the edge of her lashes. “He _hurt_ me, and told me if I told he’d make me Tranquil. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I think you’ll find I know exactly what it’s like,” Liviana drawled. “I was a slave, and a whore.”

“And now you’re free. Would you willingly go back to the same fate, serah? For that is what you’re sending us back to,” she spat. “A life of slavery and rape and cruelty. And no one that will protect us.”

“I…” Faltering for the first time, Liviana could not find a response. _But you’re a mage, a living weapon, a portal for demons and nightmares_ , she wanted to argue. The fear shone too brightly in their faces. Her words died on her tongue. Could she condemn them? 

_They’re mages._

_Look how scared they are._

_But the potential…_

She caught Hawke’s eyes, gentle and pleading.

“I’ve heard enough,” the Knight-Captain’s smooth baritone boomed out. The four mages visibly flinched and fell back. “Tell me of your abuses, and I will ensure those responsible are brought to the Knight-Commander’s attention,” he soothed. “I will not tolerate the disrespect for the Order and our charges. We are here to protect you, not harm you.”

“You don’t think Orsino already tried,” a mage cried. “Meredith doesn’t care! Not about us. Any who do speak out just get branded, and the templar barely gets a slap on their wrist. We won’t go back! You can’t make us!”

A knife glinted in the flickering light, and Liviana sighed. “It’s always the same,” she muttered. 

Still, for the first time, she felt a pang regret afterwards as she stared down at the bodies a few moments later, covered in blood and ichor and Maker knew what else. Fear was a powerful motivator to do stupid things, of that she was well aware. And these mages had once been innocent.

 _No one is innocent here_ , a voice reminded her.

But she was no longer in Tevinter. Things had changed. Shouldn’t she?

“Knight-Captain.” Walking over to where the man stood, overseeing his men as they stacked the bodies to burn with gestures that suddenly seemed weighted down, Livana stopped an arms length away. “What those mages said, about their abuse…”

“I know,” he nodded, resigned and… saddened, she realized with no little surprise. “I have heard the rumors. But no one is willing to talk, or confess, and those that do, I wonder… Well. It isn’t proper of me to speculate to one not of the Order. We’re doing the best we can, I assure you.”

Liviana waved an arm over the scene before them. “Perhaps your best is no longer good enough, Knight-Captain. If what they said is true, I can understand their reluctance to return. I do not condone their methods, obviously…” The but lay unspoken, a heavy weight on her heart. But? But what? Was she really justifying their use of blood magic to herself? _Even a well-trained bitch will bite its owner if pressed enough_. It was something Varinius had said often to his guards as a gentle reprimand when they worked the slaves too brutally. As much as she hated it, it was true. And these templars were pushing the mages to the point of no return.

“I understand you were a slave,” he murmured softly. She didn’t appreciate the pity she saw in his warm eyes.

Liviana waved away his words with a stilted hand. “It’s in the past. We all have our demons to contend with.”

At that, his gaze shuttered, lips drawing up into a cold, tight line. “That we do,” he responded in a clipped voice and turned away. “I would like to offer my thanks to you and the rest for your aid in this, Hawke. If you come by the Gallows later, I will have your reward. We’ll take it from here.”

Sparing one last look for the stern templar, Liviana shrugged to herself, and followed Hawke out of the caves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victoria aut mors- Victory or death
> 
> And ta da! A Cullen! You'll get more of him soon. A full chapter's worth, in fact!


	14. Crumbling Walls

“You want to _what_?”

Anders suddenly forgot how to breathe, his jaw practically resting on his chest at her question. Seeing Liviana in his clinic was strange enough, as the woman tended to avoid him as if being an abomination was contagious. Not that he was an abomination, not quite. But he knew she certainly thought so, her and Fenris both.

Every once and awhile though, Liviana did pop in to his clinic, usually bringing him some ill child she had found on the streets, an occurrence which had thoroughly surprised him the first time. Who knew the aloof, heartless warrior had a soft spot for kids? But this, this was…

“Is this a trap?”

“No,” crossing her arms, Liviana leaned her back against a column and stared with uncertainty over at him, then down at the dirty floor, her gaze vacillating between the two almost as if she were nervous. “I just… You heard about the slavers and the mages that the templars asked Hawke about?”

Anders glared down at the table he rested upon, his knuckles fading to white with his tightening grip. Swallowing, he forced the pressure that was Justice trying to wrest control from him back down. _Breathe, breathe_ , he told himself. When he was sure he had himself well in hand, he nodded. “I did,” was all he dared say. More mages who had fled, willing to give themselves up as slaves just to escape the templars regime. And they were now dead, like so many others. _Better than being Tranquil, at least._

“I saw them. Their eyes, they were…” Heaving a sigh, Liviana tilted her head up, one hand tugging at her braid as she searched for the words. “Back in Tevinter, I was treated well, for a slave. For my victories, I was given extra liberties, better food, less beatings. But I saw. The ludus had other slaves, lesser ones, to do the cooking and cleaning and to tend to the gladiators and the dominus. Most of the time, the slaves had been born and bred in captivity, so they knew what was expected of them. But sometimes… Sometimes Varinius bought a slave that had recently been captured and sold, someone who had up until recently lived their life free. He and his brother liked the challenge, you see. Breaking them for sport. They all followed the same path. Anger, at first. Furious at being bought and sold, angry to be forced to do things against their will. But eventually, with enough pain and other humiliations, the anger would give way to fear. Wide eyed terror that consumed them whole. They would be jumpy and jittery, leaping to order at a single crook of a finger, no longer eating, barely sleeping. A few would even soil themselves at a harsh word. And the inevitable result was that they would be broken. Empty, soulless vessels that existed solely to serve. Those mages,” her eyes stared off into nothing, “I saw the same terror in them. The nervousness, the trembling when they caught glimpse of the templars, a few of them paralyzed and rooted to the ground. They were beyond afraid, they were _petrified_.” Anders said nothing, his gaze glued to her. “I do not agree with letting the mages roam free, you know that. I’ve seen the worst of magic, and I doubt I will ever be able to fully trust a mage in my life. And yet… I cannot condone this either. A system that treats its victims as slaves, and instills the same horror I witnessed in the Imperium. But I need to know for sure.” Liviana lifted her head and glared straight into his eyes. “I need to see for myself.”

“And why can’t you just trust me?” He asked quietly.

“Because you are an abomination.”

Snorting, he shook his head. “Ah yes, there’s the cold-hearted bitch I know,” Anders chuckled mirthlessly. “So what, if you see evidence of the templars’ abuse, then you’ll…?”

“Then you’ll have my aid in trying to fix it.”

He did not think she could stun him into complete silence twice in such a short amount of time, and yet here he was, once again with his mouth hanging open, and no sound emitting from his lips. Clearing his throat once he had regained his faculties, Anders warily replied, “Your aid? You would help me free all the mages?”

“I…” No, she couldn’t do that. The very idea of letting all the mages run loose sucked all the air from her lungs and left her frozen in her own fear and loathing. “I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t agree with the system as it stands now. I can’t promise anything, Anders. But I’m willing to try and learn.”

Both of them glared at each other for the span of several minutes, the shouts and clangs that were common to the Undercity echoing in the background. They barely noticed as people shifted in their periphery, the patients and family who were staying in the clinic watching the pair with idle interest. Finally, Anders nodded.

“It’s not enough, but it’s a start. Come back here tomorrow night. I can use your help then.”

Liviana inclined her head, and left to find her way back up into the sunlight. What in the void was she thinking? Helping him, of all people, to help mages escape? It went against everything she was, everything she had known to be true and right. Fenris would think her insane, and to be honest, she would not blame him. Yet…

Their eyes haunted her. The slaves she had witnessed back in the ludus, that one young lad that pissed himself when Magister Volesus had pinned him with a stare. He had been so lively and full of spirit when Varinius had purchased him. Snapping, taunting through the blows and lashes he was given for his disrespect and misbehavior. And she had known what would be next. The magisters and their underlings were quite creative and cruel in their punishments. They liked to make the pain last, push their victims to the edge, force Liviana and the others to watch while they defiled the slaves. Humiliated them. Broke them. As a slave herself, at the time, her hands had been tied, sometimes quite literally, lest she bring down the dominus’ wrath upon herself.

_Coward. Always so concerned with saving your own skin _. It was true. Liviana had steeled herself to not care about any others at an early age, as did the rest of the slaves. It was self-preservation at its finest. It wasn’t until Calliope had taken pity upon Mara and defended the child that she had seen a different way and dredged the courage to stand up for another. And now, she found herself wanting to help again.__

___Why?_ _ _

__Fingering the hilt of a sword, Liviana blinked rapidly as she exited into the bright sunshine, and paused at the stop of a stairwell to look across the Waking Sea and its dark, whitecapped waves. She could just see the Gallows through the mist. Full of mages, individuals who could unleash an army of demons into the world with a single spell. People who could fall prey to temptation in their fucking sleep._ _

__So why indeed?_ _

__She had no idea._ _

__***_ _

__Darktown in the faint daylight that managed to slither its way down here was never the prettiest of pictures, but once the sun set, it was so much more dismal. The lit torches down here gave off such a weak light with an almost greasy quality to it, flickering and casting long shadows where the beady eyes of rats and roaches stared out from the corners. She winced slightly as she leaned against a wall, trying her best to ignore the grime and dirt that covered every inch of this place, and kept one half-lidded eye on the twitchy inhabitants of these slums that slunk around. The amount of desperation in this place was thick enough to slice._ _

__“You’re here. I really didn’t think you’d come.”_ _

__Liviana glanced over at the clinic door. “I said I would.”_ _

__Anders nodded slowly, and locked the doors behind him. “So you did. Follow me.”_ _

__Both of them kept one hand on their respective weapons as they made their way through the narrow, winding tunnels that riddled Darktown, all sense on alert for any possible trouble or sign of an attack. Leading her down a dilapidated path that had them both turning sideways to squeeze through, Anders waved at an opening in the wall that was easy to miss. “This is… important. I hope you know how much I’m trusting you with this. I don’t know why I am, but,” he sighed and rested his palm against the stone. “If word got out about this escape route, it would be disastrous.”_ _

__“I understand,” Liviana replied quietly. “Whatever the outcome of this is for me, you have my word that I will not tell anyone of this place.”_ _

__That was apparently enough for him this time, and he motioned her inside. “These tunnels lead into the Gallows. I’ve gotten word that several mages were planning to escape tonight, and have arranged help from a former templar that has agreed to arrange passage for them out of the city. But they have to get to him first. That’s where we come in.”_ _

__“A former templar?”_ _

__“Yes, Samson. He was expelled from the Order a few years back for helping a mage smuggle letters to his love. Samson was stripped of his position, and the mage was made Tranquil.”_ _

__“For letters?” Liviana stared at him._ _

__Turning back, Anders watched the play of shock and horror across her features. “Yes. Just for letters.”_ _

__She tried not to flinch as he tossed up a small magelight to guide their way as they descended down a series of ladders. A cool breeze laden with moisture and the musty stench of mildew greeted them the further they went, until her boots stepped off the last wooden rung and onto springy moss. “So we are just escorting the mages to this Samson?”_ _

__“Basically. These mages don’t know much about defending themselves. They know simple things, like how to light a candle, or how to cast a small frost spell, or how to act as support. A few might know more extensive battlemagics, but for the most part, Meredith has put a hold on the Enchanters teaching any and all advanced destructive spells. If any of the myriads of gangs or slavers that roam these tunnels find them, then they’re as good as dead,” he snarled bitterly. “And if the templars catch up to them, well. Their magic is useless anyways.”_ _

__“That’s why so many of them turn to blood magic when they’re caught,” the realization dawned upon her. “It’s their only form of defense.”_ _

__“Exactly. And once they cross that line, they’re fairly doomed. It’s rare a mage will have the will and strength to control their magic if fueled by blood. It’s too powerful, and overloads them until…”_ _

__“They become an abomination.”_ _

__“They know that it’s over when the templars come for them,” he murmured softly. “But death is preferable to capture and Tranquility. And if they can take down as many templars with them before they go, well,” he shrugged. “Wouldn’t you?”_ _

__The silence settled over them like a thick, leaden blanket. Only the steady drip of water echoed through the caverns, along with their soft breaths. She knew that fear well. A desire to die fighting, not like some druffalo tied to its pen. Could it be that the mages here truly did not use blood magic because they wanted the power, but only to defend themselves?_ _

___But the end result is still that they use it, and consort with demons. Does the reason really matter?_ _ _

__How many atrocities had she committed in her lifetime? Of course, she could argue that she had been a slave, and had known no other option, but the fact remained that she still did those terrible things. Did her reason really matter?_ _

__She had had no choice. Did these mages?_ _

__“They’re just up ahead,” Anders voice interrupted her musings. Set into a crevice in the wall, Liviana could see another narrow passageway that led into a small chamber, wherein three terrified mages huddled. Her eyes grew wide. They were still just children, although barely, probably between the ages of fourteen to sixteen years old. “Is everyone here?”_ _

__One of the teenagers, a petite mage with cropped curls the color of fire, stepped up as the little group’s spokesperson. “We are. You’re the one they told us about? Anders?”_ _

__“I am. This is Liviana. She’s a fr-” He eyed the woman behind him “…trained warrior. Together, we’ll make sure you reach the docks.”_ _

__Taking point, Liviana didn’t say a word for the first few hours, too focused on watching the paths and walls around them, along with the mages out of the corner of her eye. There were precious few that roamed these alleys and warrens of Darktown, but the ones who did were almost always guaranteed to be desperate and foolhardy._ _

__Finally, their leader snapped. “Why do you keep looking at us like that? Anders, are you sure this isn’t a trap? She reminds me a lot of the templars, for all that she doesn’t move like one.”_ _

__Liviana straightened from where she had been listening to the faint sounds of the tunnel ahead, idly rummaging through a newly deceased man’s tunic, and frowned. “I remind you of a templar?”_ _

__“Always watching,” the mage skittered back nervously, reminiscent of a spooked antelope, or a rabbit. “Waiting for us to turn into a demon. You have the same look.”_ _

__“I…” Sighing, she shook her head under Anders’ disapproving scowl. “I am sorry. That was not my intent. This is no trap, I swear to you. I fully intend to get you to your destination in one piece.”_ _

__“But?” The young girl asked warily._ _

__A second passed, and Liviana exhaled. “Is it really that bad? That you would risk all this to be free?”_ _

__“Is it that _bad_?” A boy stared at her with eyes the size of saucers. She noticed him clench his fists by his sides, his entire arm trembling with barely checked emotion, his voice breaking as he spat, “Is it that bad? Do you have any idea what goes on in that place? My best friend was raped for months, and no one lifted a finger to stop it! Not until he got up the nerve to sneak a letter out to his parents, to ask them to intervene with the Grand Cleric, and then suddenly, he was Tranquil. They said he was accused of blood magic by the templar who forced himself upon him over and over. But we all know that’s a lie.” His young face contorted with rage and disgust. “Every day, mages are being made Tranquil over the smallest things. Talking back, not obeying fast enough, and every day, the templars take more liberties with us. Is it that bad.”_ _

__“We’re no better than slaves,” the third girl piped up in a soft voice. “And even then, they seek to take away more from us, forcing us under the brand so that we’re the perfect slaves. Without a will of our own, no emotions, no dreams, just blind obedience.”_ _

__Pausing just before a corner, Liviana listened to their surroundings. Nothing. Only the soft skittering of rats and roaches along the debris that lined the walls, and a faint drip of water somewhere in the distance. And her charges’ labored breaths. She could almost hear their hearts, hammering away against their ribs. Terror. It rolled off of them all in waves so thick, it threatened to choke the air from her throat. Memories washed over her of her years in the Imperium- the ludus, the whip, the magic, the pain and horrors she had witnessed. These teenagers had the same look in their eyes that she had once had borne, before she had become Victorem. It was half sheer luck and half stubborn determination that she had not been broken as so many others were. And perhaps, it was the same equal parts luck and determination that led these mages to freedom._ _

__Whatever it was, she knew one thing for certain- This system that the southern Chantry had erected to contain the mages was cruel and unjust. It _was_ slavery. _But that Knight-Captain seemed earnest when he said that he wanted to protect the mages. Or is he one of those that believes in corporal punishment as a way of ‘saving’ a person?_ She had met zealots like that in the past, those who preached that deliverance could only be attained through unspeakable cruelty. _No. His eyes spoke true. I really don’t think he knows the extent of the problem. That means someone else, someone higher than him is covering this up.__ _

__“How old were you when you were brought to the Circle?”_ _

__“I was nine,” the curly, red-haired mage spoke up first._ _

__“Four,” the other girl whispered. The boy remained silent, staring vacantly down at a spider as it crossed in front of him._ _

__“It’s different for every child,” Anders interjected quietly. “I was six.”_ _

___Six_. “I was the same age, when the slavers took me.” The mages’ all perked up at that. “I know of slavery. And I swear to you, you will get to your destination safely.”_ _

__As the children sagged in relief, one even daring a tiny smile, Anders met Liviana’s eyes over their heads._ _

___Do you see now?_ He seemed to ask._ _

__She nodded. She saw all to well. But now the question was, what was she going to do?_ _

__The rest of trip passed without further incident, save for one small gang of carta that took them for trespassers. Leading the group up a rickety set of stairs, Liviana sighed as a breeze laden with salt and fish blew over her._ _

__“Stick close to the shadows,” Anders muttered to the rest. “Quietly, now.”_ _

__The last part was entirely unnecessary, as the mages in their soft slippers barely made a single noise as their crept behind Liviana. Sneaking around and praying to not get caught was something they all were entirely too familiar with._ _

__“There.” A quarter of an hour later, and Anders finally ushered them down close to the water, and into a nondescript door nearby that opened up into a small dingy room._ _

__“Everyone make it?” A voice grunted from the shadows on other side of the solitary table that filled the center, one tiny sputtering candle on its surface. A man stepped into the narrow ring of light. Dark, lank, greasy hair adorned a haggard, sallow complexion, the face of a man who had been dealt a harsh hand in life and who now merely existed._ _

__“Everyone’s here, Samson,” Anders closed the door behind them._ _

__“I remember you,” the boy glared up, nostrils flaring, and scooted closer to his friends. “He was a templar! I knew this was a trap!”_ _

__“No trap, lad,” Samson held up his empty hands in a gesture meant to put the trio at ease. “Was a templar. Now I just help folk like you escape.”_ _

__“Why?”_ _

__“Because Meredith’s lost her damn mind, and none of you deserve her brand of crazy,” he muttered. “Does it matter? Got you booked on the Siren’s Wave, it leaves in another two candlemarks. Pallets in the back, you can rest a bit and I’ll wake you in time. Ship’ll take you to Wycome, and from there, you’re on your own. Got it?”_ _

__As the mages thanked their guides, and rushed off to collapse on the threadbare, dusty blanket in exhaustion fueled by the sudden drop in adrenaline, Liviana and Anders excused themselves from the hovel and began the trek back. Dawn was still a few hours away, and even the docks were still and silent for now. In another hour or so, men and women would soon take to the streets and begin their backbreaking work of loading up the ships with crates and barrels, getting the ships ready to depart to the far reaches of Thedas. But for now, there was only the inky darkness of the sky, covered by a hazy layer of smoke that rose from the nearby forges, and the sound of their boots scraping against the stone road._ _

__“So that was the former templar.” Liviana was the first to break the silence._ _

__“Mmhmm.”_ _

__“He didn’t look too good.”_ _

__Anders snorted. “Lyrium withdrawals will do that to a person.”_ _

__“Lyrium? I thought only mages took the stuff?”_ _

__“That’s right, the templars in the Imperium aren’t the same as the ones here. Lyrium,” he glanced aside at her, “Gives the templars their power to dispel mages’ abilities. But it’s also addictive and causes them to lose their memories. Templars cut off from their supply inevitably go mad if they can’t find it on the black market. You see a lot of the ones that were kicked out of the Order begging on the streets for bits of coin just so they can get another hit of the blue. It’s all they can think about, and eventually, they’ll waste away to nothing.”_ _

__“So essentially, being removed from the Order is a death sentence,” Liviana murmured. “And the Chantry allows this?”_ _

__A rough, biting laugh cut through the air. “The Chantry encourages it, sweetheart. It’s how they keep the templars in line, who in turn, keep the mages penned. Handy little racket they have going for them, don’t you think?” Liviana fell silent at that. “So. Did you find what you were looking for?”_ _

__She didn’t answer, and left Anders at the entrance that would lead him to his clinic. Instinctively, Liviana pressed on without a final destination in mind, but her feet seemed to know the way. Down the roads that led her through the city gates, the guards barely paying her a moment’s attention at this hour, up into the mountain paths. Higher, and higher she climbed, a frosty wind tinged with salt whipping across her face. Breathless, with muscles that now burned from the vertical walk, Liviana finally halted atop a small plateau. She could see the whole city from here. Below her perch, Kirkwall laid out in a sprawling map of mansions and factories and slums and warehouses, a bland swathe of pale gray granite and yellow sandstone dotted with the occasional spot of color. And beyond that, the Waking Sea sparkled in the first rays of the rising sun. Everything was beautiful up here. Up here, she could almost forget the chaos and corruption that ran through the city below._ _

__Mages. Templars. Chantry. Crooks and criminals. The poor and desperate, the refugees, the elves. All of them, slaves in one way or another._ _

___No one is innocent here_. It was the same as in the Imperium. Except, this time, it was the Chantry, not the magisters, who ruled the populace and held the leashes of those born to misfortune. _ _

___But the mages are-_ _ _

__People. Living, breathing weapons, but there had to be others like Hawke. Like those mages she helped tonight. Mages who didn’t want power, who just wanted to live their life on their own terms. Isn’t that what she wanted?_ _

__Sitting down on the ledge, her feet dangling over the side of the mountain, Liviana spread out her hands before her. How many lives had she taken with her hands alone? Without blades or nets or any other tool? Wasn’t she a living, breathing weapon as well?_ _

___But they made me into this. The mages were born into it._ _ _

__Did that make them any more or less evil than she? No, she had been born to violence as well. She was the niece of an Antivan Crow guild master. It was her rudimentary dagger skills at age six that had sealed her fate and sent her to the ludus._ _

___No one is innocent. Not here, not anywhere_. It was all she had known for her entire life. But try as she might, every time she closed her eyes to blink, all she could see was terror. The mages, the slaves, the cages, thick iron bars and circles and shackles and brands and guards and templars. _What do you think, Cal?__ _

__Drawing her knees into her chest, Liviana leaned back against the solid rock, and watched the ocean in the distance. The sun was starting to rise._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided that I'm only going to keep an 8-10 chapter buffer, and anything I manage to write over that, I'll post as bonus chapters. So more chapters! Weee!


	15. Something More

**Firstfall (Umbralis), 9:36**

“Four angels.”

“Bullshit. There’s no way.”

“Read them and weep, my dear. I do believe you owe me.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Reaching into her pocket, Liviana felt around for the clink of gold and pulled out a thick, hammered band, and flicked the bracelet at the smug pirate’s face. “I liked that one, too.”

“You’ll find a better one soon,” Isabela waved away her protest. “You always do. With an eye like yours, you should be a pirate. Join me some day?”

“What, and take orders from you? That’ll be the day,” she snorted. “Going back on a ship might be fun though, for a little while. If you ever get a ship, that is, oh mighty pirate queen.”

“I will! I’m just biding my time until I can find a perfect one,” the pirate protested. “I might have a lead on one soon, if my plan pans out. Care to help me?”

“Sure,” Liviana shrugged, and threw back another shot of whiskey. “Not like I’m doing anything ever anyways. Another game?”

The rickety chair creaked as she leaned back, her skin basking in the warmth of the blazing hearth. Kirkwall in winter was much colder, and wetter, than anything she had experienced before. The winter before last had been worse though. 

Two years. Two years had passed since she came to Kirkwall. And what did she have to show for it? Just a modest pile of gold, hidden away in a lockbox in her room in an abandoned Hightown estate. Still no place to call her own, still no direction or purpose. All she did was work, and trail after Hawke occasionally on his jobs when she got bored of standing guard down in the docks. And every once in while, she had helped the Mage Underground whenever Anders called upon her, until the templars had all but crushed the resistance. It wasn’t very often; her innate distrust of magic and mages still had a hold on her, but she was slowly working to overcome her past. Hawke helped. The man was nothing like any other mage she had ever met, and the first she had willingly called friend. Anders... wasn’t quite there yet. Justice shone too brightly for her to disregard, and the emergence of the spirit on occasion was enough to spark her memories of the Imperium and set off her neverending internal argument again.

Her mind screamed at her to stay away from the mages, to keep them locked up. But her heart, and the tiny bit of conscience she had left courtesy of Calliope’s memory, told her it was wrong. It was a constant battle. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it yet, and the state of the city wasn’t helping.

Every day, the Knight-Commander tightened her fist over the mages, burning their foreheads with the lyrium brand over the slightest infractions, and every day, more mages resorted to blood magic to protect themselves. It was a vicious cycle that was slowly escalating into pure chaos. She felt it. Hawke did as well, moreso than she, since he was the city’s Champion. Something, sometime soon, was going to snap.

“Deal me in.”

“Slumming, Your Highness?”

Sebastian shot her a shy smile as he settled into the chair next to her, Fenris taking the one near Isabela. “I had a mind to get some fresh air tonight.”

“So you left Hightown and came to the Hanged Man?” Liviana raised one eyebrow in question.

“He probably just wanted a change in scenery,” Varric chuckled, popping into his own chair across from the pair. 

“I would too. There’s a distinct surplus of morality and clothing in that place. Horrid, really.” Isabela smirked as Sebastian flushed red.

“That was not even remotely on my mind.” A pretty barmaid dropped off a mug of golden ale with a smile and a wink for the prince, but he merely acknowledged her with a nod, and a coin. His gaze kept flickering between the floor and the woman sitting next to him, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the rest.

“So how about them vows, Chantry Boy?” The group snickered as Sebastian’s darkened by a few shades more, the golden brown now an odd mottled red.

Sighing, Liviana shuffled through the cards laying in front of her. “Ignore them, Sebastian. They’re all idiots.”

“I resemble that remark.” The fire wavered with the wind that blew in from the front door as it opened then slammed shut, Hawke and Merrill hurrying towards the group, both of them huddled in their cloaks. “Maferath’s frozen balls, but it’s cold out there.”

“You’ve lived too long in Kirkwall,” Varric grinned up at the man. “Aren’t you Ferelden?”

“I’m half Marcher,” he replied mildly. “That’s the half that’s an icicle right now.”

“It does seem worse, the longer I stay here,” the Dalish elf beside him piped up, her hands stretched toward the flames. “And we used to camp near the Kocari Wilds.”

Even though Liviana’s gaze was on her cards, she could always tell exactly where the blood mage was lurking on the periphery of her vision. Forever watching, and waiting. Just in case. 

A small smile played at the edges of her lips as she noticed Sebastian’s attention upon her, and the flustered way he tried to conceal it. They hadn’t spent much time together, for Liviana kept a steady schedule of jobs that kept her constantly occupied. She hated being idle. And while she spent much of her down time here in the Hanged Man, he seemed to prefer the company of the clergy and the effigies of Andraste and all that damned incense. Her nose itched just thinking about it. It was rare that he joined the group for a round of drinks and cards, but for some reason, he had been coming around a bit more often these last few months.

“Are we still on for Satinalia at your place?” Varric turned towards Hawke, who nodded.

“Of course. Hey Liv. You going to stop being a hermit and join us this year?”

“Come on, pet,” Isabela cooed. “It’ll be fun. We can get sloshed, and swing from Hawke’s chandel-”

“ _No_. Not again, please.”

“Oh, yes please! It was so much fun last year, and…” Merrill trailed off as Liviana turned a wary eye in her direction. “Well. It was fun. I enjoyed the gifts, and giving them to people. Maybe you will too?”

“You can’t make Daisy sad, Firefly.” Liviana huffed under her breath at that. He had a point. Blood mage or not, it was not dissimilar from kicking a tiny kitten when the elf gave her that pleading look. Varric just chuckled. “So we’ll see you?”

“Fine. Sure.”

It was strange, to be in the company of so many she now called friend. People who were violent and ruthless and honorable- well, most of them, she thought with a smirk towards the pirate. But even the Rivaini had her own code of ethics. Not a single one of them sought power for the sake of power itself. In fact, Hawke actively shied away from the responsibility. It was a group of people simply trying to live their lives. Really, only Aveline, Hawke, and potentially Varric had real stability and income, the captain of the guard and the author. The rest of them just sort of… existed, floating around from job to job, raking in just enough coin to earn them shelter and a hot meal.

A former slave waiting on his master to finally confront his past. A mage biding his time until the demon finally took over. A pirate without a ship. A prince without a kingdom. And a gladiator without a spectacle. She often asked herself what she was doing here. What she wanted out of life. And most of the time, the answer was simple- she wanted to survive. But was that enough? Was this all there would be to her life? Work, save money for what?

There was a dream that lingered in the deepest recesses of her mind. Of a small cabin somewhere warm, near the Minanter, or maybe the ocean. It’d be small, just big enough for her, and close enough to a little town where she could buy or barter for things she would need. Life would be calm and quiet…

 _And utterly boring. Face it, you crave the violence and blood and the challenge of a kill. It’s a part of you now, Victorem. You think you could really just escape it all without any regard for all the lives you have taken?_ A memory of a fight last week stirred.

Hawke had taken her, Varric, and Merrill up into the mountains to check on his mine that he co-owned with some fop named Hubert. There were records of bandits straying a bit to near for his liking, so he had asked them to accompany him while he checked the conditions out. She could still hear Merrill, begging the brigands to stop attacking them so they could just talk, but to no avail. Fascinating, how a blood mage was the most gentle out of all of them. Even Varric held a shoot first, ask questions later policy. It had never occurred to Liviana to ask the enemy to stand down so they could talk. She only sought answers after the fighting was over, as she rifled through the pockets of the dead for orders, a note, or something that would give hint to a motive. Or shiny trinkets and coin. Actually, it was always just for coin. There was never a reason for her to question why people attacked her; they just did.

“You seem awfully pensive tonight.”

“Hmm?” Liviana raised her chin at Sebastian’s soft voice. “I suppose. Just thinking.”

“Anything in particular?”

“I’m wondering how all of Hawke’s ego manages to fit inside of his armor without the damn thing exploding.”

“I often wonder than myself.”

“You’re no better, dwarf.”

Shaking off the melancholia that had gripped her, Liviana laughed at the pouts on both mens’ faces and threw down her cards. “My hand, Iz.”

“Fuck off,” the pirate scowled. “Of all the rotten luck- Here.” Tugging at the bracelet on her arm, grumbling all the while, Isabela frowned when Liviana shook her head.

“Didn’t you find a ring the other day?”

Isabela’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Please? Pretty please, with a Fenris on top?”

“Please leave me out of this,” the elf drawled.

“Oh, well, if you’re throwing Fenris into the deal.”

“I am not a bartering chip.”

“Besides,” Hawke cut in, “He’s busy.”

“But we didn’t even specify when-”

“He’s. Busy.”

Metal bits clinked as Isabela rummaged in her pouch, the woman giggling a bit as Liviana patted Fenris’ white shock of hair, Hawke glaring at them both with jealousy written all over his handsome face. “Here, bitch,” she tossed the ring over. “It’d probably look better on you anyways.”

“You’re the best.” The ring wasn’t anything special, just a simple circle of bright yellow gold, with a tiny emerald dotting one end. Sliding the stud in her nose out, Liviana popped her new jewelry in. “There.” 

“I would never have taken you for the girly type,” Hawke leaned back as she peered into Sebastian’s breastplate to examine her face, much to the latter’s chagrin. 

“Why not? I am a woman. I like looking pretty every now and then,” she shrugged.

“You always look pretty,” the words tumbled from Sebastian’s mouth before he had a chance to stop them. “I mean, um…”

Liviana realized with a slight cough her precarious position. Her hands, braced on Sebastian’s thighs, her head, leaning over his lap. It was a position she had once been intimately acquainted with, but not for two years. Her gaze flicked up to his dark olive skin and bright blue eyes. “Oh?”

“That is to say, you are-”

“Hush you two,” Varric pushed Hawke and Fenris back, who were muttering amongst themselves. “I’m trying to listen.”

“Andraste save me,” the prince muttered. “Would you like to talk a walk with me, Liviana?”

“Ooh, a romantic stroll around Lowtown? Varric, you never take me on sweet dates like that,” Isabela leered at them both.

“You never ask, Rivaini.”

Grabbing her cup, Liviana ignored them and the lewd suggestions they all started throwing her way, tossed the rest of her drink back, and buckled her cloak over her shoulders. “That sounds lovely, Sebastian.” She turned back as he got to his feet, and stuck her tongue out at Isabela, who just cackled.

“Don’t show me your tongue, show him!”

“For the love of-” Sebastian groaned, his own cloak swirling around his legs as he pushed the door open into the frigid night. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“Well, none of them actually ever shut up, so, no.”

A warmth blossomed in her chest at his low chuckle. Wrapping the edges of her woolen cloak firmly around her body, Liviana followed him up the stairs that led into the Hightown quarter, easily matching his longer strides despite the difference in height.

“My apologies,” he slowed his pace when he realized how fast he had been walking. “I forget how tiny you are sometimes. You always seem larger than life.”

“I do?”

“Aye,” he grinned. “You’re a force of nature, lass. Trampling anyone and anything that gets in your way. Your determination and strength are admirable, and your honesty and kindness are a rare sight in this place. I…” His voice trail off as her smile grew bigger with every character trait he listed.

“Don’t stop, please,” the corner of her eyes crinkled. 

“Well, ah…” Even in the darkness of the night, his blush was evident for a brief second before he ducked his head to avert his gaze.

“You also think I’m pretty,” she added after a moment of silence.

“Is that so surprising?” His tone grew soft, his eyes, warm. “You’re obviously attractive on the outside, but the true light shines from within you.”

“I…” It was her turn to turn away, one hand yanking on her braid and pulling it up higher to hide her flaming cheeks. Clearing her throat, she kept her eyes focused on the stones under her feet. “Kindness was not a trait I would have assigned to myself.”

“But you are,” he nodded to himself. “I saw you give your day’s wages away to that woman and her children, down in Darktown the other week. It’s not the first time you’ve done something similar, I’d wager. You never pass by a child in need, even if all you have on you is a handful of coppers.”

“They’re just children,” she shrugged. “They never asked for this life. I can always earn more money. They can’t.”

“True.” White fogs of breath curled around his face as he stopped at the top of a set of stairs, looking down over the marketplace, devoid of a single soul save for a pair of wandering guardsmen. “Liviana, I…” He shook his head. “I’ve decided to go back to Starkhaven.”

“Oh?” Leaning her back against a column, she braced one foot against it and crossed her arms. There was a sudden pang that lanced through her chest as the admission, but she could not figure out why. _He’s a friend, that’s why. That’s what friends do, right? Care about each other, and be sad if one leaves?_ “When?”

“As soon as I am confident that Her Holiness is safe here. With how the city is, the entirety of Kirkwall teeters on the tip of an arrow. Mages pushing back at their protectors.” Liviana frowned. “I fear what is to come.”

Humming her agreement with the last statement, Liviana thought about the rest. It was the Chantry that created this mess, wasn’t it? And the templars weren’t exactly innocent in all of this either. But it was true that the city was on the verge of breaking. And just because the Chantry had enslaved both mage and templar didn’t mean the Grand Cleric needed to be punished for it. It wasn’t her fault that the entire system was broken. “I feel it too. Even the air has changed here. It seems like one wrong step, or one sharp breath, and the whole place will just burst apart at the seams.”

“Aye. I wanted to ask you.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Sebastian began to pace in front of her. Liviana waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts. “When I go back to Starkhaven, would- will you come with me?” 

Her eyes flew open, her jaw dropping slightly. Of all the things she had expected him to ask, that was not one of them. “Come… with you?”

He nodded, and glanced up at her shyly. “I could use a warrior like yourself to help me fight off the usurper and his men. You have the skill necessary to rend them defenseless and beaten, but not killed. I don’t want any of my people dying more than is necessary. And, besides,” he took a deep breath. “I’ve… grown fond of you.”

“Sebastian…” 

“I understand,” he added hurriedly as he saw her muscles tense, “If you don’t feel the same for me-”

“I didn’t say that,” Liviana blurted.

A smile curled up on his face. “Oh? So you do feel the same?”

“No, I meant, I-” Her voice felt like it was trapped within her throat. Maker, why is this so hard to say? “I’m fond of you, as well.”

Three steps, and he was standing right in front of her. One hand, freed of its glove, gently traced a line down her cheek. “And if I said I was more than fond?” His voice curled like liquid heat in her belly.

With wide eyes, she shook her head. Whatever her own feelings, she knew how seriously he took his oath. “You can’t. Your vows.”

His fingers fell away from her face only to grip her shoulders. “Damn my vows,” he growled, leaned forward, and kissed her.

Lips, softer than she had expected met hers in a rush of heat, swallowing her gasp of surprise. Arms, firm and solid, pulled her flush against his chest. Sighing, Liviana let herself melt into the embrace for just a moment, for it had been years since she had last had anything intimate with another person, and his kiss made her realize how starved for another’s touch she was. Her fingers curled under the edge of his armor, tugging him even closer, his groan igniting the fire that had already been simmering within her, his taste spurring her on.

“Liviana,” he murmured into her skin. “Let me- I need-”

Gasping, she pulled back. “Sebastian, I- you can’t.”

He stared at her while he struggled to rein in his erratic heartbeat and tame his wild breaths. A sigh sagged at his shoulders, and he leaned back in to rest his forehead against hers. “I know,” he whispered. “I want so much more with you, but I can’t. It’s more than just the physical, my dear.” His smile was wistful as she pulled away in confusion. “I want the chance of a future with you. The hope that there might be something more between us, something lasting. I meant it when I said I was more than just fond of you. Liviana, I l-”

“Don’t say it.” Her hand pressed against his mouth, her head resting on his chest. “Don’t,” she muttered into the cold metal. “I can’t- Sebastian, what you want from me is beyond my ability to give. I can offer you my affection, my friendship, maybe something physical if you were willing, but anything more than that is…” She shook her head and pulled back, wanting to put more space between them. “Besides. If you go back to Starkhaven, you’ll need to marry.”

“You could-” he began, but quickly snapped his mouth shut at her snort.

“Me? Really?” Gazing up at him, her expression softening, she quietly laughed. “I’m an escaped slave, and a wanted murderer in Tevinter. I hardly think I’m suitable to be a wife, much less a princess.”

“They’d have no choice but to accept you, if I willed it.”

Liviana recognized that stubborn lilt of his chin. Stretching her arm up, she tapped him on the cheek with her finger. “You’d upset all the stuffy nobles, and they’d send assassins after you. Again. I’m not worth that.”

His eyes fixated on her, Sebastian caught her hand up in his and lifted it to his lips. “You are to me.”

Feeling the weight of his stare, Liviana hesitantly licked her lips. “I…” She yanked her hand back and cradled it to her chest. “It’s getting late. We should go.”

This part of the city was so quiet at night. Only the sound of the wind, blowing around the high roofs, and his heavy breaths punctuated the silence. “...As you wish.”

Neither said another word as they slowly meandered down the empty roads, both lost within their own minds. It was only when his feet stopped at the bottom of the Chantry stairs did she look up, blinking as she realized that for the first time, she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings. If someone had attacked, or shot an arrow at them, she would never have seen it coming. _Distractions_ , she shook off the- guilt? Frustration? Too many emotions rolled around in her head, warring over the other until she was a tangled mess.

Pausing on the bottom step, Sebastian turned around to smile at her, gentle, and cautious, as if she were a rabbit that might get spooked. “You are worth it, Liviana. You’re right, I have my vows, but I still want more with you. You think you have nothing to offer me, but you’re wrong. Your heart is all I desire.”

Paralyzed in place, she watched him ascend the stairs and disappear into the building.

People had always been easy. Her world was kill or be killed, filled with those who desired her body, and nothing more. All of her companions within the ludus would have not hesitated to slit her throat if their master had commanded it, save for Calliope, and even she might have at one point.

And then she came here. To this place where nothing made sense. Where she had friends who enjoyed her company just for the sake of it. But even with them, she saw the appraising glances at her figure when they thought she wasn’t looking, or in Isabela’s case, especially when she was looking. But then there was Sebastian. A man who was bound by his oath to the Maker to renounce the pleasures of the flesh and to pledge his life in service, yet claimed he still wanted her. Her heart.

Inhaling, she laid a palm over her chest, barely feeling the staccato beat through the layers of leather and wool. He wanted her… not for the physical? She didn’t even know what that meant. Did she want the same?

Liviana scoffed at herself. _Ridiculous, that’s what I am. Even considering that there could be more with him, a prince of Starkhaven, while I’m just this. Nothing. I’ve been content with what I have. Besides, I don’t love him. ___

__Love was for naive, starry-eyed children. Not the likes of her. Viciously tamping the swirling maelstrom of emotions in her chest down into the abyss where the rest of her humanity lay dormant, Liviana pulled her cloak around her tighter, and left._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is still a Cullen/Trev fic, I just couldn't resist Vael. Sorry not sorry.


	16. Unexpected Rescue

The slamming of cabinets echoed through the empty rooms. Grumbling under her breath, Liviana shut the last one with a curse, holding only the heel of a stale loaf of bread. She had been gone the last ten days, traveling with a caravan up to Wildervale and back, and it was obvious by the state of the kitchen that Fenris had been scarce as well. 

“Probably staying at Hawke’s,” she muttered. No matter. The markets would be closed by this hour, but there was a tavern not too far away from here at the edge of the merchant’s quarter that served decent food and should still be open.

Buckling her armor back onto her body, the dirt and dust of the road still covering her leathers and hair, Liviana headed back out. The chill, damp air bit into her exposed skin with every step, like hundreds of tiny pinpricks, stinging as the wind whipped around her and freezing the moisture on her hair. Maybe she’d move up to Antiva. Or Rivain. Kaffas, even Seheron sounded appealing at the moment.

The low murmur of voices and light spilled out into the street as she approached the low building. Pushing the door open, Liviana sighed with happiness, blessed warmth rushing out to envelope her and melt the ice from her clothes. She nodded at the barkeep, scraping her shoes against the stiff rug to rid her boots of any mud and debris, and called out her order as she took a seat.

The tables here were relatively clean, devoid of the layer of grime that permeated everything in the Hanged Man, what Varric lovingly called ‘character’. If that was the case, then she preferred her haunts to be bland, sans piss and vomit in the corners of the room. The patrons smelled better, too.

Smells of roasted meat and vegetables wafted up from the plate a barmaid placed in front of her, and with a sniff of appreciation, Liviana dug in. _I wonder where Fenris is tonight. Probably at Hawke’s again, playing their on and off again game._ She understood his reticence, however much she scoffed at it. Her past did not make it seem feasible that something as normal as a relationship could ever happen to her, and it was likely that elven warrior felt the same. People like them did not have happy endings. Blue eyes and a soft brogue flashed through her mind for just a split second, but she shook it off. There was a reason why she had taken the caravan job to get out of Kirkwall for a bit, and that reason resided in the Chantry. Where he belonged. And she did not.

Swallowing the last of her ale, Liviana wiped the froth from her lips and tossed a few extra coins onto the table. The night was still young; she had time to draw a few buckets from the well, heat the water, and have a proper soak. The prospect nearly made her drool with anticipation. 

The cold buffeted her once more as soon as she stepped out into the night, but the addition of a full belly, coupled with the pleasant warmth of the alcohol, made it seem a bit more tolerable. All of the streets were calm tonight, not a single soul out in the-

_What was that?_

Metal clashing against metal rang out of sight and just to her left, the sound unmistakable to her ears. Someone was fighting tonight down a side alley, hidden away from any who might be passing by. Frowning, she debated on ignoring it. After all, the odds were high that it was just rival gangs arguing over their turf, one of the numerous brawls that she was accustomed to fending off. _If it’s a guard though? Might score another favor from Aveline if I rescue one of hers again._ And a favor from the captain of the guard was no small thing to scoff at.

Her blades whispered quietly as she withdrew them, deciding to just have a small peek. Keeping her back close to the wall, Liviana crept towards the sounds of combat, pausing when the ring of blades ceased. Was it over? She peered around the corner.

One man, dressed in heavy silverite plate armor, lay on his back upon the ground. Around him, six bodies in plain leathers were scattered in various states of disembowelment and death, while another- she counted quickly- eight stood towering over the knight. One man kicked viciously at his side, and the fallen man gave a weak groan. Whatever was going on, Liviana didn’t like it. One man against fourteen? He had to be an exceptional warrior if he took down as many as he had already. Even if he was a criminal, he didn’t deserve to die like this. Probably. 

“Odds are a bit skewed in your favor, don’t you think? Or do you need all the help you can get to take down a single man?” Liviana called out to the gang, leaning casually against the stone wall, twirling one of her daggers in her hand.

“This ain’t none of your business, girl,” one of the thugs spat. “Leave us, or you’ll regret it.”

“Just seeing your face is enough to make me regret it, but alas, here I am,” she smirked. 

“Stupid bitch,” the one who had kicked the knight earlier swore. “Can’t have no one interfering with our ransom. Get ‘er!”

Liviana met them in a rush of steel, skewering the first who threw himself at her before rolling to the side and coming up on one knee to impale a second straight through his gut. Ducking a swing, one leg lashed out and hooked around a knee and yanked, toppling another to the ground. A quick jab of her sword, and that was was dead as well. _Parry, riposte, thrust-_

“Fenhedis!” A bright pain blossomed in her right shoulder, and with a scowl, she glared down at the arrow protruding from just below her pauldron. Reaching up, she grit her teeth and quickly snapped the excess off with nothing more than a faint grunt. There, up on that roof partially hidden behind the vine-covered lattice, she saw an archer that she had missed earlier. Her bow whistled through the wind as she whipped it out, and smiled as the woman lurched out of the shadows and landed with a sickening crunch onto the flagstones. 

Five more. Sprinting a short distance away, Liviana quickly notched another arrow and fired it, three in succession, bringing one rogue down with every shot, yet killing only one of them. Her shoulder was throwing her aim off ever so slightly. She bit off another curse, and barreled toward the two remaining men, severing the artery in the first one’s thigh before whirling to fling a dagger straight at the second’s head. With a strangled gurgle, he fell. 

Sheathing her swords, she slit the throats of the ones who still lived with little effort before turning to the injured knight. Moonlight reflected off his skin, deathly pale, and for a moment she wondered if he was already dead. His leg twitched. _Alive, then. That’s good. It would have been annoying if I went through all that trouble only for him to die._

As she approached him, Liviana recognized the insignia emblazoned on his breastplate. The Sword of Mercy. What was a templar doing out here alone at night? Better yet, why was the Knight-Captain, of all people, lying near death at her feet? She’d recognize that blonde mop of curls anywhere.

Gingerly, she crouched next to him. “Knight-Captain?” An eye opened groggily. Skimming her gaze over his body, her brow furrowed as she noticed his hand, how the leather of his left glove was darker than the rest. He was bleeding. “Kaffas,” she muttered under her breath. Her cloak, where was- There. She retrieved the cloak from where she had carelessly discarded it earlier, and quickly ripped out the soft inner lining. It was probably the cleanest thing they had on hand, and would have to do for now. “Here,” she gently removed his hand and pressed the wadded up cloth to his wound. “You’re going to have to stand for me, alright? I can’t carry you completely, but my place is only on the other side of this block. Do you understand?”

The Knight-Captain nodded weakly. “Yes,” he rasped.

Slipping under his right arm, Liviana held him as best as she could with the shaft of an arrow still embedded in her shoulder, swearing under her breath at the weight of him combined with his plate as they took it step by agonizing step. Once, she had to reach up and slap him to shock him back into consciousness. “Stay with me, Knight-Captain,” she urged. “We’re almost there.”

It seemed as if the manse was leagues away, the door receding further from sight with every cobbled stone they crossed, but soon enough, she was pushing the door open, half dragging the templar with her. Stumbling into the kitchen, Liviana released him as gently as she could muster, laying him down onto the floor and began working at his trappings.

“I’m going to need to remove all of this, alright?” His eyelids fluttered in response. Fenhedis, how much blood had he lost already? She needed more light. And the arrow out her arm. Setting her teeth, she quickly grabbed hold of the shaft and yanked, hissing between her teeth as the wood came free. As tight as she could manage, she tied a spare bandage around and over the wound. It would have to wait.

Working the breastplate up over his head, she frowned at the amount of blood that soaked the padding and tunic underneath, matting it to his skin. Taking it off the normal way would cause him too much pain, and she needed him not to move as much as possible. Reaching into her boot, Liviana pulled out her dagger and sliced the remaining layers off. 

The cut was clean, she noted with relief, but deep. In one fluid motion, she rose and tossed her gloves to the side, grabbed a bucket, and pumped it full of clear water. Setting the wooden bucket next to the man, she ran into her room for a few more supplies. Clean cloths, herbs, mortar and pestle. Ripping off pieces of elfroot, spindleweed, and embrium as she headed back in, Liviana tossed the bits into the mortar and added a few drops of water to grind the mixture into a paste.

The Knight-Captain had passed out at some point while she worked, his head lolling to the side and covered with the faint sheen of sweat despite the chill of the room. _Not good_. As gently as she could manage, Liviana cleaned his wound and the surrounding area and pressed the herbs to his side, waiting for the plants to slow his bleeding before she sutured the gash up with neat little stitches, taking care to heat the needle in a flame beforehand as Decima had once taught her. Sitting back on her heels, she nodded to herself, mostly satisfied with her work, and looked back into her rolls of dried herbs to select a few more sprigs of elfroot and embrium, and eyed the rest. There was only two withered petals from a dawn lotus she had found awhile back, and three leaves from a prophet’s laurel she had been carrying around for a year, just in case of emergencies. She glanced at the templar. His complexion was still ashen, his breathing labored. _Kaffas._ With a wistful sigh, she tossed the lot into the bowl. 

Testing the consistency with two of her fingers, Liviana spread the concoction over the sealed wound. “What’s that,” a voice slurred next to her ear.

“Herbs,” she replied without looking up at him, some of her tension fleeing her shoulders at the sound of him. He would not die tonight. “It will help keep the infection out for now, and keep the swelling down. Otherwise, your skin might tear the stitches out.”

“Stitches?” Unable to sit up to examine for himself, the templar frowned in the direction of his abdomen. “You cleaned it?”

“I did. I tried to ask if you minded, but you were exactly cognizant.”

Cullen relaxed his muscles. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I think you saved my life, and for that, I am in your debt. Mistress… Liviana, was it?”

“Just Liviana is fine,” she replied.

“Cullen. Cullen Rutherford.” Turning his head, he examined the tools laid out next to him. “You know a lot about healing.”

Liviana shrugged as she tugged her own armor over her head with one arm, stripping until she was down to her breastband so she could clean her own wound. If she noticed the reddening of his cheeks, she didn’t say. “I was injured enough in my training to warrant a trip to our healer at least once a week. She was a rather chatty woman, and ended up teaching me a lot about her craft. It’s come in handy a lot over the years.”

“For you and me,” he said with a wry note, still decidedly looking anywhere but at her. “That gang that attacked me…?”

“All dead,” she assured him. “One of them said something about a ransom?”

Sighing, his eyes flickered up towards the ceiling. “They wanted to kidnap me and hold me in hopes of getting a ransom from the Knight-Commander. Naturally, I resisted.”

“Naturally,” she agreed. “So why were you alone in Hightown at this hour anyways? And in full templar regalia, no less. By the way, I had to cut your gambeson and tunic off.”

“I’ll get a new one, it’s no matter,” he replied. “As for why I was here, it’s… a personal matter.”

“Ah,” she nodded as if she understood everything. “The Blooming Rose, of course.”

“No!” The retort came a bit too fast, and Liviana bit back a smile. “Not that establishment, Maker’s breath. I was simply visiting a friend.”

“A friend?” Her eyebrow inched up along with her lips as a rosy hue spread across his cheeks and down his neck. “A friend, or a friend? Of the lady variety?” She knew she had hit the mark as the blush darkened further, his entire torso turning an interesting shade of red. A wide grin split her face as an impish desire to tease him suddenly arose. “Well, now I need sordid details. Is she young and pretty? Or older and experienced? Nice tits? No, you probably like the derrière more, non?”

A splutter of disbelief and embarrassment erupted from his lips, along with protestations of his modesty. “I- It’s- Maker’s breath, does it really matter? Why do you wish to know?”

“Call it my payment for saving your life,” she shrugged. “And I’m bored, and we’re stuck here together for a bit until you get strong enough to walk back, at least until morning.”

Covering his face with one large, calloused palm, Cullen groaned. “Andraste preserve me,” he muttered. “She is a widow, a bit older, but still lovely. Will that suffice?”

“Perfectly,” her grin was wicked. Were all chantry boys this much fun to tease? Or only the ones with pretty eyes? “So, is this a perk of being Knight-Captain? I know the other templars are relegated to using the Rose.”

“It’s not a perk,” he grumbled. “I met the lady while out on patrol and saved her from an attack, and she… thanked me.”

“I bet she did,” Liviana snorted. “Say, since I saved you from an attack, does that mean-”

“No.”

“Spoilsport.” Crossing her arms over her chest, her shiver made her realize that the hearth was still cold. A few logs and a bit of flint, couple with a few years of practice, and soon, she had a healthy fire roaring, spreading heat through the drafty kitchen. “Do you think she’s worried about you? Should send her a note.”

“I should. Do you have paper and ink?”

Liviana left the room for a moment to rummage around in the other rooms, sifting through books and chests and shelves until she reemerged with a pot of ink, quill, and a few pieces of blank parchment. Sprawling out next to him, she began to write. “Let’s see. Sorry I can’t… How do you spell ravish?”

“What?” His head shot off the floor, and with a lightning fast swipe and a muffled curse for the pain that lanced up his side, he snatched the paper from her hands. “What are you writing? Maker’s breath, I’m- Your handwriting is like a child’s,” Cullen scowled. “And I am not going to send her a note that says I’m sorry I can’t ravish her tonight.”

Unable to help the fit of giggles at his horror, Liviana fell back onto the floor, and grinned up at him, one arm draped over her bare midsection. It seemed, that in his flustered state, the man had forgotten about her state of undress. “I thought she’d appreciate the blunt honesty.”

Cullen ignored her, and scratched out her words to pen his own response as best he could still lying down. “I suppose it’s too late to send tonight. It’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow. I should be able to return to the Gallows then, correct?”

“I don’t see why not. As long as you don’t make any sudden movements, like you just did," she noted dryly, "You should be fine. It’ll be a long walk though, especially if you put on your armor again.”

“I’ll be fine,” he waved off her concern. “I’ve had serious injuries before, and still worn my plate.”

“As you wish,” she acknowledged him with a tilt of her head. “I don’t like the idea of moving you tonight, so I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep on the floor. I can probably find some extra blankets and a pillow though.”

“Why are you helping me so much?” Eyes the color of firelit whisky cut up at her. “I know Hawke and his ideals, and the mage company he keeps. Most of them despise the Order, save for that tattooed elf and Vael.”

“You’d think I’d let an innocent man die out there?” Leaning against the wall, she stared down at him. “If I had left you there, you would have died. If I hadn’t cleaned your wound and stopped the bleeding, you would have died. Yes, I could probably just leave you here as you are for tonight, but I know how uncomfortable sleeping on a cold, hard ground is without any creature comforts. I may be ruthless, Knight-Captain, but I’m not heartless. Not entirely, at least.”

“Do you hate the templars as well?” The accusations had fell away from his voice, leaving only a weary resignation.

Liviana thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I understand what you are trying to do, and for the most part, I respect it. I just don’t think you’re going about it the right way, that’s all.”

“You don’t know what magic can do, what a single mage is capable of-”

“I don’t know?” Her brow rose in incredulity, her tone scathing. “ _I_ don’t know, a former slave of Tevinter? Do you truly think I haven’t seen the worst of magic, Knight-Captain?”

“I apologize,” his chest deflated. “I had forgotten your origins for a moment. I did not mean to presume- Maker, I’m a fool. Of course, you’ve seen. That is why you understand why the templars are necessary.”

“I do. But I also despise slavery.”

Cullen frowned. “The mages are not slaves-”

“Not in the sense I was, no. But chains still bind them.”

“Chains bind us all,” came the quiet reply.

Turning away, Liviana rested on hand on the doorframe, and glanced back. “...I’ll get your pillow. You should get some rest tonight.”

“Thank you, again,” he called out. 

Nodding, she turned away and disappeared down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look it's Cullen


	17. A Forgotten Name

“Wait. Walter, was it? The dockmaster can always use new hands, if you were looking for a more stable subsistence than scrounging around in the dirt.”

“Would it be enough to feed the others?”

“It’d be a damn sight better than what you’re managing right now, I’d bet. Find him, and tell him that Liviana sent you, alright? If he doesn’t accept you, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Thank you messere!”

A toe poked at the remains of the demon at her feet as the boys scampered off into the tunnels. Evelina had taken these orphans in, took care of them, and then this happened. An abomination, because the templars refused to help her take care of her children. Wasn't it the Chantry's responsibility to take care of widows and orphans and such? _Who is right and who is wrong this time, Cal?_

“That’s kind of you,” Hawke nudged her shoulder. “Come on. We’d best get ourselves back to the Gallows and tell the Knight-Commander.”

Liviana made a face, her features curled into a slight moue of disgust as they made their way back through the city and across the harbor to the island. She avoided the Kirkwall Circle of Magi as much as she was able to. All these mages in one spot raised her hackles, and she all but prowled through the courtyard, ready to pounce at the first sign of blood or the first screech of a demon. Fenris was the same, both of them glaring around them while Hawke and Isabela simply sauntered past deeper into the compound.

The Knight-Commander was a formidable woman, tall, proud, and strong. Fenris approved of her, and she knew that the Knight-Captain all but worshipped her, but something about her set Liviana on edge. What for, she didn’t know. It was probably just her imagination, but her gut had kept her alive so far, so Liviana kept one hand on a sword hilt as they entered the spartan office.

“I’m led to believe that both Huon and Evelina are dead. Unfortunate, but necessary. But it seems, however, that we have heard nothing of Emile de Launcet.” Eyes the color of a winter’s sky, but infinitely colder, regarded Hawke.

“Emile was killed,” Hawke replied, almost defiantly. Liviana resisted the urge to look at at the man. 

“Yet we have no body? No witnesses to a battle?” _Oh for- Hawke let him go, didn’t he. That’s why he told me he didn’t need my help last night._ “Most curious. Regardless, your part in this is done.”

Unable to bit his lip anymore, Hawke blurted out, “The blame for everything these mages did can be laid at your feet. Look at the way you treat them. Is it any wonder they’re so desperate?”

“You don’t think the mages are even a little responsible for their crimes?” Fenris muttered flatly from behind.

Bracing her arms against her desk, Meredith heaved a sigh. “I have heard this argument often. Maybe they are not corrupt. Maybe they deserve leniency. Maybe they can be saved.” Her voice took on a hard edge. “There are maybes enough to fill half the graves in Kirkwall. I will not add more to the pile. Enough. I have not the patience to argue with you further.”

_She’s right. How many have died at a mage’s hand just in the two years I’ve been here?_

_But how many would have even resorted to blood magic had it not been for Meredith’s heavy hand slowly strangling the life out of them?_

_When did you start sticking up for mages, Cal?_

_When you started doubting, and seeing the mages for what they truly are, Cat. Slaves. People. You know where you stand on all this. You just don’t want to admit it yet._

Lost in her mind, Liviana drifted away from Hawke as he searched the people that roamed the courtyard, the mages enjoying what little they were allowed of this brisk winter’s day, the cold snap finally having broken a few nights prior. Fenris was right. So was Anders. So was Meredith, and Cullen, and Hawke. How could people on the opposing ends of the spectrum all be right? _Vishante kaffas, but my head hurts._

“Mistress Liviana?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” she scowled at the formal address. “How are you?”

“Completely healed, thanks to you,” Cullen sketched her a small bow, her eyes crinkling at a bit with his smile. “I wanted to thank you again, properly this time.”

“Oh?” Isabela strode around the side of the column with a leer on her face. “I’ve got some ideas on how you could properly thank her.”

“Maker’s- Is that all you people think about?” Cullen groused, averting his gaze from the two giggling women. 

“Yes,” Fenris answered for the both of them.

Cullen sighed. “Wait here a moment, please.” Hurrying away, he appeared only a minute later holding a large square wrapped in burlap. “Here. For you.”

Curiosity piqued, Liviana took the package and pulled the rough twine free. Inside was a bundle of soft, navy wool, with a small copper pin on top that had been carved into the shape of a… cat?

“That’s a lynx,” Isabela snatched the pin from the Liviana’s hand. “They roam the plains of Antiva and Rivain. I remember seeing one when I was a child. Gorgeous creatures. All sleek muscle and dark fur.”

The rest of the fabric proved to be a cloak, lined with finely spun cotton dyed a charcoal gray. Plucking the pin back out of the pirate’s hand, Liviana swirled the wool up over her shoulders and fastened it shut with the brooch. Running her hand down the fabric, she smiled. “It’s lovely. I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything this fine. What’s it for?”

“Like I said, it’s a thank you, as well as a replacement for the one you tore in order to save me,” he replied. “Or it could be for Satinalia, if you'd prefer.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, stunned into silence.

“Satinalia, hmm? So where’s your present for him, Livvy?”

Glancing up, she frowned over at Isabela, then Cullen. Of course. People didn’t give each other presents without expecting anything in return. “I’m afraid I don’t have a gift for you, but I’m sure I can think of something.”

“I’ll bet he can too,” the Rivaini snickered. 

“No no no,” rubbing the back of his neck as if he could hide his blush yet again, Cullen shook his head, his curls gently swaying. “It’s just a gift. No reciprocation necessary.”

 _Oh. That’s… Huh._ “...Alright. Thank you. By the way. Who’s Hawke talking to?”

“Hmm?” Cullen craned his neck back to study the courtyard. “That’s his sister, Bethany. Lovely girl, for a mage.”

 _So that’s Bethany._ A templar stood with the pair, a young, dark-haired man she recognized as Carver, Hawke’s brother and Bethany’s twin. _One’s an apostate, one’s a Circle mage, and one’s a templar. Because that makes sense._ She had asked Hawke before why his sister was in the Circle, but the templars left him alone. 

“Oh, they want to lock me up,” he had replied. “But Meredith wants to be Viscount more than she wants me under her thumb, and needs the nobles’ support. Taking me in would risk their ire. The nobles haven’t forgotten who saved them from the Qunari. Yet,” he added darkly. “I’m sure once their memory fades, she’ll come after me at first chance.”

Hugging his sister once more, and swatting his brother on the back of his head, Hawke laughed as he danced away from Carver’s retaliation. “Ready to go, guys? I like the cloak.” Liviana beamed, and gave him a little twirl. “Yes, yes,” he chuckled, “You’re very pretty. Come on, supper should be almost ready and I’m starved. Plus, presents!”

Thanking Cullen again, Liviana fell into step beside Fenris, and turned towards the gate. _This really is a magnificent cloak. So soft and warm. I should probably leave it behind when I go on jobs, though. Someone will try to steal it, and then I’ll have to kill them, and I’ll get blood all over it and-_

“Cat?”

One foot on the stair, Liviana froze, the very blood in her veins freezing as if she had just stepped in the way of a frost blast. Every hair on her body stood straight. Her heart ceased to beat. No one ever called her Cat, except for Calliope, who was dead, and-

Slowly, joint by joint, muscle by muscle, she forced her body to turn. A man stood a handful of paces away, his brow furrowed in an expression that was eerily similar to her own. Eyes of a deep emerald green, the golden flecks catching fire in the afternoon sun, widened at the sight of her. Black hair, dark and shiny as obsidian that would have been wavy had it not been closely chopped framed a face with a high, proud nose set over full lips a little wider than her own. His complexion was more fair than hers, but then again, it had always been like that from birth.

“I-I’m sorry,” the man smiled sheepishly under her haunted stare. “I didn’t mean- You just… reminded me of someone.” He turned to go.

“Wait!” Liviana called out before she realized what she was doing. “What’s your name?”

“Max,” he replied. “Max Trevelyan.”

Silently, she watched him disappear back into the Gallows, his dark gray and green blue robes swishing around his feet with every step. It was him. Oh Maker, it was him. He was here. Her big brother.

And he was a fucking mage.

Oblivious to the questioning glances the others gave her, Liviana’s mind was blank to all thoughts save one as they crossed the bay and headed back to Hawke’s house. _Max is a mage. My brother is a mage._ A roar of blood in her head drowned out anything her companions might have asked her. Floating along like a wraith, she obediently sat on the sofa in front of the fire where Isabela gently guided her and accepted the drink Fenris pressed into her hand, sipping at the liquor within without tasting it at all.

_Max is a mage._

“Liviana?”

Liviana jolted out of her stupor as Aveline’s face swam into focus, a handsbreadth in front of her own. A cold nose pressed against her hand. Millicent, Hawke’s mabari, gazed up at her with large, dark eyes. “Y-Yes?”

“There you are. You’ve been out of it for over an hour now. Aren’t you hungry?” 

Realizing that she was, in fact, famished, Liviana gratefully accepted the plate the woman passed her. “I’m sorry. I was… thinking.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Fenris drawled. Liviana stuck her tongue out at the elf, and dug into her food, sorting through the meat to find a piece for Millie. “You looked like you saw a ghost.”

“I did,” came the quiet response.

“Give her time to process whatever she saw first,” she heard Varric murmur from behind her. “All right, who’s ready for presents?”

Someone took her empty plate from her at some point, Sebastian taking the spot to her left and Isabela wedging herself in on her right. Hawke stood near the fireplace, calling out names as he picked up the gifts that had been left in a pile next to the hearth. “Aveline, this is from Anders. Fenris, from Merrill.” Fenris eyed the tiny parcel as if it might turn into a demon on the spot and eat him.

It was all mostly little trinkets. She had gotten Isabela a pretty sash, Varric a fancy quill, Anders some more supplies for his clinic which he accepted with a grateful smile. Aveline had found her a gorgeous stiletto dagger with an ivory handle, and Hawke had a new pair of bracers that the strange dwarf, Sandal, had enchanted for her. It was all lovely, and quite practical. Smiling as she watch Isabela preen in the reflection of Sebastian’s armor, Liviana almost didn’t notice as Merrill gingerly settled into the empty spot to her right.

“I, um, have something for you.”

Liviana glanced at the linen in her hand warily. It would be rude to not accept, wouldn’t it? She could feel the weight of Varric’s and Hawke’s stares on her, both of them watching to see what she would do. “I… Thank you,” she managed. The little square of linen wasn’t even tied, so with careful fingers, she slowly peeled back the fabric.

And then the floor dropped out from beneath her.

A small oval pendant of polished wood lay in her hand, strung on a neat leather cord. Upon the pendant, there was a small carving.

Of a halla.

The only difference to the one she had given away so long ago was the swirl of the wood grain. _Calliope._

“It’s a Dalish trinket,” Merrill’s words fell over each other in her haste. “I know you don’t like me, and I know you hate magic, and me, but I hoped we could be friends. Hawke was my very first friend, and Varric, and Bela, and Aveline, and I love them so very much and they love you so I wondered if-”

“Merrill.”

“Yes? Oh Creators, I’m talking too much aren’t I? Anders always tells me that, don’t you, Anders? He says I just go on and on and on-”

A hand softly touched Merrill’s arm, stilling the Dalish elf into uncharacteristic silence. “It’s perfect.”

“It is?” Merrill bounced in her seat. “You truly like it?”

Clutching the pendant in one hand, Liviana pressed it to her forehead, her shoulders slumping over. How long had it been since she had truly cried? There had been a few tears shed for Calliope’s death the night she escaped, and before when the pain was particularly acute, but she had always been able to muster her resolve and stem her emotions. This time, she couldn’t find it in her to stop. Whether she wanted it or not, tears flowed down her cheeks in silent rivulets that struck the rest of the group into absolute shock.

“Liviana?” She heard Sebastian’s soft accent, felt his touch upon her shoulder.

“I think you broke her,” Isabela muttered.

“Are you sure you like it? Do humans normally cry when you give them gifts?”

“She said she liked it,” Hawke soothed Merrill. “Liviana doesn’t lie.”

It was just too much. Seeing Max today, then reclaiming a bit of Calliope, from a blood mage, no less. Nothing made sense anymore. Scrubbing at her face with one hand, Liviana offered the necklace to Merrill. “Tie it on for me?” As the woman leaped to do as she asked, the warrior stared down into the flickering flames. “I had a friend. Only the one, back in the ludus.” The chatter around her stilled. “Her name was Calliope. We were as close as we could be, given the circumstances. We slept together, ate together, trained and bled together. We were sisters in all but name. Her mother was Dalish before she had been captured by slavers, and Calliope was born into slavery. The only thing she had left of her mother and her heritage was a pendant. A wooden halla pendant.” She stroked the smooth wood, tracing the lines with a fingernail. “She was the reason why we escaped. There was a girl, a child, the dominus had purchased, that had recently been stolen from her clan. Her eyes… they were the same as Cal’s. The color of early lavender blooms. A cousin, maybe? Cal wasn’t sure but…” Her eyes squeezed shut, one hand fiddling with Millie’s ears as the dog pushed her snout into her thigh. “She was willing to risk everything to save that girl from the life she had. She killed the dominus because of her. And I stood by her, even though I thought her mad, because at that point, it was either die, or escape.”

“Where is she?” Hawke ventured to ask after a few moments.

Another tear slipped free. “She died,” Liviana whispered. “She died so we- so I could get the girl to safety. But before she did, she gave me her pendant. I gave it to the girl, afterwards. I thought maybe she wanted her family to have it, but I…”

“It sounds like you were her family,” Varric said.

Mutely, she nodded. Family. Calliope had been all the family she had known. But Max was out there. Max was in the- “Gallows.” Her blood turned to ice, and _burned_.

“Max Trevelyan.”

Liviana’s head shot up.

“That’s what he said his name was,” Hawke observed her like a bird of prey. “Who is he?”

She remained silent.

“Trevelyan,” Sebastian muttered to himself. “They are nobles of rank, from Ostwick. Pious, devout Andrastians, with many ties to the Chantry and the Templar Order. It created quite a scandal some years ago, I recall, when their eldest son was found to be a mage. They had a daughter as well, but she died.”

“Or did she?” Varric watched Liviana, her eyes, hollow and vacant, focused upon nothing.

“Evelyn,” she croaked. “Evelyn Catalina Trevelyan. That man was- _is_ my brother.” Shooting to her feet, she couldn’t take the scrutiny any more. Her breath was caught somewhere between her throat and her lungs, her heart was threatening to shatter her ribcage. She wasn’t sure where she was going, she just needed _out_. Cloak, swords, that was all she needed. Grabbing both, she fled into the night.

_Breathe, dammit. Breathe!_

It was as if she had ceased to function as a human being. All she could do was run. Run like her life depended on it, like the Doctore was bellowing behind her, cracking his terrible pronged whip. She could almost hear the slivers of iron rattling together that he had braided into the leather, meant for gouging and slashing. Anything to make the pain worse, to make the fear greater.

Time and direction lost all meaning. Buildings and trees and the moons above blurred into nothing. It was only when her lungs finally gave out that she fell to her knees, and look to see where she was. Fingers, scratching in the sand. Salty air, whipping through her air. Icy water, splashing against her skin. The Wounded Coast.

Leaning her back against a boulder, Liviana huddled in on herself. Small, so small. Mages were evil. Until they weren’t. Magic was bad, but not. Her brother, the one she had worshipped and fought with as a child, held this awful power. He lived his life within the same stone walls, unable to leave or marry or live on his own terms. Had he been abused too? Did he consort with demons? If pushed enough, would he open his veins to the power of the Void? Or was he like Hawke? Anders? Merrill? Evelina? Nothing made sense.

The pendant of wood bobbed around her neck, the weight still unfamiliar and almost burdensome, like a hangman’s noose. _I had hoped we could be friends._ Friends, with a blood mage?

_She’s never abused it so far. She’s careful to keep them and herself in check._

_Is that enough? Mages always want more power._

_Hawke doesn’t. Merrill just wants knowledge so she can aid her people. Anders just wants the children to grow up with their parents, to be treated as people._

_Hosts for demons._

_People._

_I should never have come here._

_Max is here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUUUUUNNN


	18. In Search of Solace

_“Maxwell, I said stop!”_

_“It can’t hurt you!”_

_“I don’t care, I don’t like it! Sofia, make him stop!” A little girl, dressed in a pale yellow gown decorated with entirely too many frills stomped her delicate, slippered feet, running to hide behind the older elven woman that approached them._

_“You should not antagonize your sister so, my lord.”_

_“It’s just a worm,” the little boy, a few years older than his sister scowled at the ground, grinding the toe of his boot around in the sand. “It’s not doing anything.”_

_“It’s bothering me,” his sister hissed. “As are you.”_

_“You’re such a baby.”_

_“Am not!”_

_“Are too!”_

_“Enough, children,” Sofia cut in with a firm hand, pulling the two apart. “Andraste preserve me, but look at you both. Your clothes are filthy. What will your mother say? Come along now, and we’ll get you both changed.”_

_“It’s her fault, she pushed me down!”_

_“Only because you wouldn’t get that worm out of my face!”_

_“Children, what is all this noise? Sofia, I expect you to keep them in line.” A petite woman with a regal presence swept into the hall, a tiny, perfect frown upon her lips. Dark maroon silks rustled against the stone floor. “They are far too unruly.”_

_“My apologies, my lady,” the elf curtseyed low. “I will do better, I swear.”_

_“You had better. Oh my soul, what is all this dirt? Evelyn, you’ve gone and ruined your brand new dress! And Maxwell, your doublet! Maker, why have you sent me two such disobedient children? Am I being punished for a sin of my past?” The children, well used to their mother’s theatrics, fell silent, their heads hung in a display of docility._

_“We’re very sorry, Mother,” they chimed in perfect unison. “We won’t do it again, we promise.”_

_Heaving a sigh, the lady rubbed one temple, and shooed them off. Not willing to chance their stroke of fortune, having miraculously avoided being sent to Brother Ervale for extra lessons, the siblings scampered away as sedately as they could manage._

_“It was your fault, you know.”_

_Evelyn simply stuck her tongue out in response. “I don’t like worms. They’re icky.”_

_“They’re just worms, Kitty Cat.”_

_“They’re slimy and gooey and-”_

_“Children.” Falling into silence at the sound of their nanny’s sharp voice, Evelyn let herself be herded into her room so the servants could change her, while Maxwell was led across the hall to his own chambers. “You know arguing with him is not a becoming trait in a young lady, querida. A man does not want a temperamental wife.”_

_“I don’t care,” Evelyn crossed her arms with stubborn intent. “I shan’t ever marry anyways. I don’t want to go and live with some boy for the rest of my life. I already live with Max, and he’s gross.”_

_Patting her on the head, Sofia gave the girl an indulgent smile. “Ah, you’ll change your tune soon enough. Perhaps you’ll find a good match at the auction today.”_

_“The auction?” The girl peered up at the woman curiously. “What auction?”_

_“Why, the slave auction, of course. You’re of age to be sold, and no one here wants you anymore.”_

_“What?” Backing up until her shoulder blades hit the wall, Evelyn shook her head violently, dark ringlets bobbing. “Mother and Father wouldn’t sell me.”_

_“Well, they certainly didn’t care that you left. How long do you think they looked for you? A month? A week? Maybe just a day?” The once soothing smile turned cruel. “They were finally rid of you, and then Maxwell. Speaking of Max, shall I tell you how he cried? Begged as he was dragged off to the Circle? Locked away from all the sunlight, beaten, tortured-”_

_“No, no! That’s not true!” A scream was rising in her throat. Horrified, she watched as the windows shrunk into the walls, rising higher and higher until they were reduced to narrow arrow slits along the ceiling, letting in the barest sliver of light. The fine mahogany furnishings melted away, leaving only cold sandstone, stained with blood, a single arm trapped in the manacles bolted to the wall._

_“That’s what the Circles are,” the now disembodied voice taunted. “Prisons, holding slaves. Do you remember your first years, sweet Evelyn? Before you began to think of yourself as Liviana? Do you remember the taste of blood, the sound of the shrieking children? Is it any comfort, to know that Maxwell suffered alongside you?”_

_“It’s not- You’re lying!” She screamed into the shadows that were closing in on her. “You’re lying!”_

_“And to think, the last words you spoke to him were full of contempt. How he must hate you now,” the voice purred. “Perhaps he noticed you wandering off, and chose not to tell anyone-”_

_“Please stop.”_

_“Perhaps he wanted you to die, or get taken. Get you out of his way-”_

_“No,” she whimpered. “Stop…”_

_“-the annoying little brat who did nothing except oscillate between hanging from his sleeves and yelling at him. How he must have rejoiced when you disappeared and-”_

_“I SAID-_ STOP!” With a gasp, Liviana lurched from her bed. Snatching up a candle and a flint with trembling hands, she quickly struck a light. Tiny room with faded plaster. One small window, letting in the light of the twin moons. A single mattress, pulled from the bed and laid upon the floor, under her body. Worn armor resting on a stand at the foot of her bed, dagger under her pillow, swords propped up against the wall within arm’s reach.

_Nightmare._

The third one this week, in fact. Funny, she hadn’t had one in years, but suddenly, they were nonstop, interrupting her sleep constantly. 

Rustling around, Liviana laid her head back down in an attempt to return to sleep. Futile. Her heart was still hammering away, that twitch in her fingers aching to _do_ something. Pushing her blanket down, she stood up and stretched, donned her armor and buckled her swords to her hips, doubling back to grab her cloak, and then slipped out into the night.

It must have been several hours after midnight, judging by the height of the moons. She pulled her hood up over her hair, hoping it would help to keep would-be attackers at bay. Her distracted state would not prove helpful in a fight tonight. 

Aimlessly, she wandered through the shadows, trying to soothe her restlessness to no avail. For the past five days, Liviana had studiously avoided everyone she knew, unable or unwilling to face them and their questions, which ones, she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust any of them, no. She trusted all of them at her back in a fight. But this was… more. More than a fight, more than the possibility of death. This was everything she had ever known crashing down around her in flames.

It was one thing to acknowledge that the mages were mistreated, a fact that she was still struggling with, balancing her desire for justice with her personal experiences. It was entirely different to know that her brother, her flesh and blood, her Max was a mage. He held the power of demons in his hand. And he was subject to whatever cruelties the templars might have bestowed upon him.

She needed a drink.

Glancing around, she realized she was down near the docks. Most of the taverns might be closed at this hour, but there was always a few that stayed open 'til dawn. There was one in particular she liked, a small bar out of the way of the main thoroughfare. Clean and tidy, for a dock tavern at least, and sometimes the barkeep gave her free drinks for taking care of any unruly patrons.

“Hey, Tavish,” she nodded at the man, who immediately poured her a shot of whiskey into a glass. Taking a look at his face, he added another finger more as she chose a seat at the end of the counter, next to the wall.

“You look like shit, girlie.”

“Such a charmer,” she sighed. “I knew your mouth was why I loved you.” Snorting, the wiry man returned to the sink, where he had been washing the cups.

Only three others were in here at this hour. Two sat on the far side of the room, huddled together and looking entirely suspicious, and a third lay slumped over the table, drool leaking from his mouth. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. The door swung open again, and two more men entered, one after the other.

“An ale!” One newcomer shouted at Tavish, while the other slunk down at the other end of the counter. “Hey, man! Didja hear?”

“I think the whole city heard your bellowing,” Tavish grumbled. “Here.”

Gulping down half of the mug in one go, letting out a massive belch, the man surveyed the room, his eyes lighting up as soon as they settled on Liviana.

_Fenhedis._

He sidled up to her. “Hey-”

“I’m not in the mood. Talk to me, I punch you. Touch me, I’ll carve your spleen out and feed it to the fish.”

“Don’t be like that, pretty,” he cooed, reaching out a hand towards her.

Whipping out her dagger, she slammed it into the counter, just narrowly missing his finger. She glared up at him. “I take that back. Touch me, and I’ll saw your dick off with a blunt spoon, rip your spine out through your ass, and tie them into a bow. Leave. Me. Alone.”

“Fucking bitch, nobody talks to me like that. I oughta-”

A heavy hand caught his wrist, saving his worthless life in the process. “I believe the lady said she wanted to be left alone.”

“That ain’t no lady,” he sneered. “That’s a-”

The fist slammed into his jaw before the man could even blink, his body folding in on itself like a ragdoll. Nodding at her and the barkeep, her savior lifted up the drunkard, and carried him outside into the street, returning empty handed a few moments later. It was then she got a good look at his face, although she had recognized his voice immediately.

“I know you could’ve handled it yourself,” Cullen smirked down at her. “But you didn’t appear to be in the mood to do so. My apologies, if I overstepped.”

Liviana waved him down to the seat next to hers. “Whatever he wants, on me, Tavish.” 

“What are you drinking?” Cullen asked her.

“Whiskey.”

“I’ll have the same.”

Firelight reflected off his glass, and an idle thought ran through his mind. _His eyes are same color as the whiskey. Except a lot colder. And more tired._ She gulped at her drink, relishing in the feel of the numb warmth that spread to her fingertips as Tavish refilled her cup yet again.

“Does that happen often?”

Glancing up, she shrugged. “Often enough, I suppose. Always some man who thinks I should smile more, or that I would be delighted to hang off every lie they tell me, or who thinks their dick is the best in all of Thedas and that it would be my honor to suck it. I’ve stopped paying attention.”

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “Well, on behalf of all men, I apologize.”

“Not accepted. What are you doing here, anyways?” He wasn’t in his usual plate, she noticed. A lighter set of steel armor covered his tall figure, devoid of any marking or heraldry, similar to what a sellsword might wear, with only a small shield at his back.

“I was going to visit…” Shoulders deflated in time with his sigh. “My lady friend.”

“Ah. She kick you out?”

“Of a sort,” he muttered. “It turns out she wasn’t quite as widowed as she had led me to believe. A miracle. Her husband, back from the dead. Or returned from his business trip to Orlais. One or the other.”

“Fuck. That’s shitty.”

“It is what it is.” He threw back the rest of his drink, and Liviana motioned for Tavish to refill it. “I shouldn’t,” Cullen frowned, but was summarily ignored.

“Did you love her?” She wasn’t sure why she asked that question; surely, his business was her own, but something about the man drew her in. Liviana found herself wanting to know more about him. Unusual enough for her. Maybe it was the drink. This was her third whiskey after all. Or fourth. Fifth?

“I- No,” he shook his head. “She was an excellent distraction, and a nice enough woman. But there were no feelings involved, not on my part, at least.”

“That’s good. Feelings are messy.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

Was she? No, she just knew from watching others. Fenris and Hawke mostly. Sebastian… The prince had been letting her have her space, ever since the night he had confessed his feelings for her and all but asked her to marry him. _Idiot_. “Nope.”

“Alright.”

“So,” she swiveled in her chair to face him, leaning against the wall. “You didn’t come down here to drink your feelings away, because you have none. You don’t want to drink more,” a finger tapped the edge of untouched, refilled glass. “Looking for your next bedmate?”

“Are you offering?” Cullen raised one brow, and for a moment, she found herself tempted. It had been awhile. Her eyes swept over his form, looking past the chiseled structure of his jaw, lingering on the dark circles below his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks. 

“I think if I took you to bed now, you’d be more liable to fall asleep on me than anything. I prefer a more captive audience for my talents.”

His eyes narrowed at her for a split second, then a laugh bubbled forth. “You’re right,” he chuckled. “I probably look horrible.”

“According to that asshole there,” she pointed down at Tavish, who just winked at her, “I look like shit too, so you’re in good company.”

“Here’s to looking like shit, then.” Raising her glass, Liviana clinked it against his. “I’m here just because. I don’t feel like going back to the Gallows just yet. It’s gotten a bit… stressful, as of late. I’ve gotten used to using my leave as a chance to escape it all. I’m not sure what I’ll do now, since visiting Margaret is no longer an option,” he mused.

“Blooming Rose?”

“Maker’s breath, no thank you.”

“Right. Handsome man like you, doesn’t need to pay for it.”

“T-That was not what I was insinuating,” Cullen stuttered out, then glared when he picked up on the smirk in her voice. “You’re a horrible person, do you know that?”

“Yes,” she agreed readily, giggling at his mutters about how he should have just let that man continue to accost her and let her take care of it her damn self. “But you give me the best reactions. So, work? Getting tired of lording it over the mages?”

His eyes locked onto hers, the slight edge to her voice that crept in not going unnoticed. “You know that’s not what we do.”

“That’s not what you do, but that doesn’t account for the others,” she replied bitterly.

“We are- Andraste preserve me,” he slumped in his chair. “I would really prefer not to talk about this.”

“Ah, sorry. Here, another drink.”

“This is the last one,” he warned her.

“Sure, sure. Hey, Cullen.” A frown tugged at the corner of her lips as she drew little swirls into the whiskey that had spilled onto the wood surface. “...Do you know a mage by the name of Max Trevelyan?”

“Trevelyan,” he furrowed his brow. “Oh, yes. The Senior Enchanter from Ostwick. What about him?”

“From Ostwick? He hasn’t been in Kirkwall for that long?”

“No, he came, what was it, three years ago? We had a sudden influx of new arrivals, and were short on capable teachers, so Ostwick and Tantervale sent us a few of theirs. Why do you want to know?”

Attempting to appear nonchalant, Liviana shrugged, but not entirely without care. “Do you like him?”

“Do I- He’s a mage, Liviana,” Cullen gave her a long-suffering look, as if he were explaining to a child. “Senior Enchanter Trevelyan is a well-learned mage, and seems to be in excellent control of his abilities. We haven’t had any issues with him, to my knowledge, and he is generally well liked among his peers. Now, what is this about?”

“Nothing.” No issues. Well liked. Maybe he was one of the few who had no quarrel with the templars? Or was he one of the ones buying his favor in other ways? A sudden urge to vomit rose in her throat, and she shoved the rest of her glass away. “Think I’m done, Tavish.”

“Wait.” A hand almost fell on hers, then was withdrawn at the last moment as if he thought better of it. Leaning in, his amber eyes studied her face intently. “You and him… Same hair. Same mouth. Same eye shape, although his are a different color. You even have the same scowl as him.”

Pulling the cup she had discarded a second earlier back to her chest, Liviana drained the rest of its contents. _I told everyone else, why not him? Fuck, I should just tell all of Kirkwall._ “I have our father’s eyes. He has our mother’s.”

“He’s your brother?”

“That is what they call it when two people share the same father and mother.”

Cullen ignored her snark, settling back into his chair. “...Did you want to meet him?”

“What? You’d do that?” She eyed him with suspicion.

“I shouldn’t,” he admitted. “But I’m assuming he doesn’t know you’re here?” She shook her head. “If you wanted to talk to him, just this once,” he added sternly, “I would allow it.”

“I’ll think about it. When I’m sober, preferably. I haven’t- He doesn’t-” The words fell flat on her tongue.

“There’s no rush,” Cullen smiled at her. “My offer will stand for however long you want it to.”

“Why?” It didn’t make sense to her drink addled brain why a templar, the Knight-Captain no less, was willing to bend the rules for her and one of his charges. What was he trying to gain? Her trust? Her confidence? Or did he desire something more… common? 

“You saved my life,” he replied. Simple, succinct. “I owe you. And for some reason I can’t explain, I find that I enjoy your company.”

“You do, do you?” She flashed him her best sultry smile, only to be rebuffed by a snort. _Well. That has never happened before._

“Your clothed company,” he shook his head wryly. 

“Oh. Well in that case-” was the room spinning or was it just her?- “If you can’t find anything else to do with your leave, you could always waste your time here with me for drinks. You can bitch about whatever, I’ll tease you until you die of mortification or become entirely immune to my innuendos, it’ll be fun.” One hand snaked up to pet his hair, Cullen’s face shocked and a tad bemused as she pulled on one curl. “It’s so springy.”

“You know what,” he said slowly, gently shoving her hand away, “That actually does sound pleasant. As long as you won’t be trying to molest me the entire time.”

“I’ll have you know that magisters used to pay a fortune for me to molest them,” she replied haughtily. “Or was it the other way around? Hmm. Either way, it’s settled, and with that, I’m off.” Pushing herself out of the stool, Liviana stumbled over her feet, barely keeping herself upright with the aid of the wall.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere right now, girlie,” Tavish sighed, coming around the corner. “Bedroll in the stockroom, sleep it off there.”

“Yes, messere,” Liviana saluted him, then collapsed into giggles. “I knew you loved me.”

A genuine smile colored with repressed laughter broke through his facade as Cullen watched her lurch her way into the back room. “Tavish, was it?”

The grizzled barkeep nodded at the templar. “Knight-Captain. She’ll be safe enough here, don’t you worry. Do you need any help getting back to the Gallows?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” Throwing a few more coins down, Cullen stood, inordinately pleased that his vision and balance seemed to be perfectly intact. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon. Thank you, serah.” A chuckle came to his throat as he heard a crash from the stockroom, followed by a colorful string of curses in a slurred, feminine voice. She was a character, he would admit that. And why he agreed to meet her again was beyond him. But for some reason he couldn't explain, he liked her. Not in the base way that she assumed, that most men were interested in her, no. There was... a kindred spirit within her haunted gaze, her eyes full of demons of her past. And that, he could understand.

Two weeks couldn't come fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moar Cullen!


	19. Reflections

Jangling armor and the soft thuds of boots hitting the pavement echoed through the alley. Quickly, Liviana stuffed the rest of the small pouch filled with silver, her pay for that night’s job, into a secure pocket and eased one sword out a bit, just in case. Too many gangs roamed these parts at night, running their protection rackets and smuggling rings, all of them desperate for a few more coins to add to their meager piles. She pressed her back into the shadows, and waited.

“It’s down this way.”

“Are you sure? The note wasn’t very specific. Gardibali’s warehouse. Who even is Gardibali? And where is his warehouse?”

“Don’t just blurt it out like that, someone might be listening!”

“With that sort of volume,” Liviana drawled, popping out of her hiding spot, “I’d be surprised if all of Kirkwall hasn’t heard you lot by now.”

Rounding the corner, Hawke stuttered to a stop, tension melting into relief at the realization that it was just her. Fenris, Anders, and Varric were close on his heels. “Liviana!” He grinned at the sight of her. “I don’t suppose you know where Gardibali’s warehouse is? Fenris swears he knows, but has managed to lead us into three buildings that were decidedly not our destination.”

“These buildings all look the same,” Fenris grumbled. “How was I supposed to know that last warehouse was a front for a whorehouse?”

“With an open floorplan, no less,” Varric snickered.

The cough that she attempted to mask her giggle with was a futile attempt, judging by the glare on Fenris’ face. “This way. Why are you going there, anyways?”

“Trouble, I think,” Hawke sighed. “Orsino asked me to check out a meeting of mages that have been secretly sneaking out of the Gallows in Hightown. They attacked us, because of course they did, and a note we found on a body directed us here.”

“Something doesn’t add up though,” Varric chimed in. “There were mages and templars at that meeting. Working together.”

“Maybe even the templars have realized that Meredith is going too far,” Anders cut in.

Glancing over at the men, Liviana bit her lip. “Was- did you see-”

“No,” one hand came to rest on her shoulder as Hawke shook his head. “He wasn’t there. But there are more mages we’re going to run into tonight, Liviana. There’s a risk of bl-”

“He wouldn’t. He can’t.” She wouldn’t believe Max would resort to that, ever. He was her brother. She couldn’t believe.

Nodding, Hawke fell silent and followed her into the dimly lit, dusty building, pressing his fingers to the sides of his nostrils in order to stave off the sneezes that he knew were lurking. “I hear voices up ahead.”

Livana watched the scene unfold with curious detachment. Her eyes scanned each robed figure, searching for the familiar emerald green, or that high, elegant nose, barely focusing on the fight. Not here either. There was hope still.

“I told them not to do it, I swear! I’d never have let them kidnap anyone I knew was one of yours.” A templar, young and blonde, ran up to them as the last mage fallen, their limp body dropping to lay amongst the others, robed and armored alike. The word had just registered in her mind, when Hawke growled. A warning, brimming with tension.

“Kidnap? Who,” he snarled. “ _Who_ , dammit?!”

“A hostage, they said, for leverage. They thought you were spying for her,” Keran held his hands up to try and deflect the Champion’s anger. “They should have just talked to you. You have to see how dangerous Meredith is. Thrask says she’ll cause open war soon if we don’t stop her. You-”

“Who?” Hawke took a heavy step forward.

“A mage!” the young man yelped, shuffling back. “Long, dark hair, fair skin, I think her name was-”

“Bethany. I swear to you, if any harm has befallen my sister…” The sharp light burning in his eyes spoke of a promise to inflict unspeakable pain and vengeance. “Where.”

“The ruins on the Wounded Coast! Thrask is there! Please, messere, I swear I didn’t-”

“Save it,” Hawke snapped. “Let’s go.”

The man barely spoke another word on the walk to the coast, a trip of a little over an hour. So Liviana fell back to stay alongside Varric, for she had questions. And the dwarf was always willing to talk.

“Thrask?”

“Another templar,” Varric replied. “We’ve had some dealings with him before. I like him, he always seemed like the reasonable sort, but this…” His head shook with slow, weary arcs. “Sunshine. If anyone deserves violence, it’s sure as hell not her. Thrask is fairly sympathetic towards the mages. He’s one of the good guys. Or was.”

“And I suppose you’re thrilled with this,” Fenris glared over at Anders, the mage staring at his feet while they strode out of the city, the cobbled streets turning to soft sand.

“Hardly,” Anders snapped back. “I don’t agree with the methods.”

“But.”

“But I agree with the goal. Just not like this.”

Fenris snorted. “I bet you’d have been fine with it if it was me that had been taken.”

“Well, that goes without saying.”

“Enough!” Hawke bellowed from up front. “Not another word, any of you.”

Liviana was quite sure she had only once before seen the man as angry as he now was. Palpable waves of electricity and heat rolled off of him, tendons cording along his neck, his jaw clenched so tight that she could hear his teeth grind together even from where she stood several paces away. She couldn’t even fathom the extent of his rage. The last time one of his family members had been abducted, well… 

“More templars and mages up ahead,” Varric called out. “And- shit, are those corpses?”

Blood magic. When was it not? But the templars were there. Did they not care? A chance to interrogate the soldiers never came, as none were willing to talk.

“Samson,” Liviana stepped over a dead body and paused at the top of a side path, coolly observing the former templar as he approached. “What are you doing here? Are you with the rebels?”

He nodded. “I was. I just wanted Meredith gone. She’s a cold-hearted bitch, that one, with her sword so far up her ass she could cut her own tongue with it. But… Look at this,” Samson gestured to the fallen behind them with a sigh. “I thought if I could get her out, I could take up the shield again but maybe she was right. Blood magic, demons. Give them a hint of freedom, and this is what happens.”

“That’s not true for all them,” Hawke cut in. “It’s Meredith that’s pushing the mages to this, you know that, Samson. Now where’s my sister?”

Jerking his head down the trail, he glanced back at the group. “The others are down there. I want Meredith out, but I don’t have the stomach to turn against all that’s natural to do it.” Then, he was gone.

Mages and templars, working together. Anders and Liviana exchanged a wary look, and she almost felt a bright spot blooming in her chest that was suspiciously similar to hope. But the coppery tang of blood was far too pungent, leaving a taste that lingered in the back of her throat. Shaking her head, she turned away from the mage and continued down the path.

“It’s always the same,” Fenris muttered. “Twenty silvers says the mages waiting for us at the end of this will also sic demons on us.”

Liviana snorted. “I’m not taking that bet, elf.” 

***

Incense floated up around her in thin tendrils of smoke, intertwining around her fingers as she idly twirled her wrist in lazy circles. The steady thrum of the Chant resounded off the vaulted ceilings, the sound lulling her into a modicum of calm and security, at least outwardly. The rest of her was in chaos.

The events of the day replayed themselves over and over in her head. Hawke’s sister, laying on the sand unconscious. Her friend’s agony and fury laced scream, shattering the peace of the coast. That red-haired templar, trying to appease the furious Champion, begging him for something that Hawke already had given. Thrask’s body, thrown about like a discarded rag doll. Blood, so much blood, and a mage who sought the powers of the demons for her own purposes.

It was only what Liviana had expected. And when the carnage had settled, Ser Cullen had come and arrested the leftover mages, the ones who insisted they had only wanted peace, never this, never wanted the abilities blood magic brought. Her eyes had scanned each and every face at that gathering, and fallen short.

No Max. He wasn’t here. 

That meant… _Is he one of the good ones? Are there any good ones? Or bad? Or just terrified mages who turn to their last resort? That’s what most of them are, I saw that for myself. No, mages like Grace, they had an option. Thrask asked her to step down, and she just wanted to kill Hawke. She killed Thrask. One of the only templars who was willing to try to help both sides understand, to make peace, who understood that they were stronger if they stood together… They killed their last chance._

From the depths of her soul, an overwhelming urge to see her brother rose, to discover what he was like, where he stood, what kind of person he was. Was he the same trickster as he had been as a child? Or had his life hammered him into something more unyielding? Cullen had mentioned they had the same scowl. _Maybe he’s neutral. Although, is that even possible anymore?_

Every day, the pile of bodies grew larger. Mages, templars, civilians. The calls of the crows that had scented the stench of dead flesh that wafted up from the newly deceased still echoed in her mind. Soon, all of Kirkwall would buckle under the weight of corpses. What she should do, was leave. Just get out of town, put this all behind her, take a job in Orlais, maybe. Or Antiva. Kaffas, even Ferelden sounded more appealing than here.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, Liviana knew she couldn’t do it. Not until she met Max, at least. If he turned out to be like Grace, well. Maybe she should go with Sebastian to Starkhaven, start a new life. After all, what did she owe Hawke? 

_They’re your friends._

_You were my friend, Cal. And you left me._

_Well, that’s not fair._

_...I know. I’m sorry._

Staring out between the railings, Liviana stared back down at the golden effigy of Andraste, watching the reflections of the penitent as they knelt before Her. Restless, with thoughts tumbling over each other in confusion, she had wandered the streets until she had found herself at the entrance to the Chantry, and decided to enter. It had been a small matter to find an abandoned dusty nook, high up on one of the balconies, shuttered away from the rest of the populace and used for storage, judging by the piles of crates stacked high in the alcove. But there was space enough for her slight form, and perfect vantage of the nave below.

She should just stop thinking. Her thoughts always chased themselves in unending circles, and it was leading her nowhere except to frustration. Her head thudded against the wall behind her with a sigh. Maker, she was exhausted. Her nights had been filled with random bouts of wakefulness and a series of sit-ups and push-ups designed to tire her out even more, the result of nightmares keeping her from sleep. Images of the ludus and abominations and her parents and Max, turning away from her as she screamed for their help tormented her every time she closed her eyes. 

“Hiding?”

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows, and Liviana resisted the urge to flinch.

“Thinking.”

Settling himself across from her, Sebastian neatly crossed his legs and offered her a warm smile. “Anything I can do to help?”

And another thing. People offering their help or giving her gifts just because. It was strange, and made her feel awkward. Liviana hated feeling awkward. Everyone always wanted something in return, except for these people she had come to call friends. Or were they all just biding their time?

“No.”

“Alright then.” Making himself comfortable, Sebastian cast his gaze out past the balcony and watched the people below.

Was he… staying? Why? What did he want from her?

“I know that you’re glaring at me,” he chuckled without looking back at her after a few moments. “I’m not after anything from you, Liviana. I saw you come in, and you just looked like you could use some company.”

He wasn’t wrong. Frowning, she reached up to fiddle with the wooden halla pendant. 

The silence was surprisingly comfortable, and she felt the tension drain from her body as the minutes passed. “I haven’t seen you around as much,” she finally said.

“Aye. I’ve been spending a lot of time in contemplation and meditation recently,” he replied. “As well as prayer.”

“About what?” Sebastian glanced at her, one eyebrow cocked up and Liviana winced. “Sorry. Too personal.”

“It is,” he agreed, then paused. “About what I should do. I told you I was planning on going back to Starkhaven, but… Now I’m not so sure. The Divine, she’s sending one of her agents here. I’m not quite sure what for, but I am not optimistic. Starkhaven is secure, for now. Wouldn’t I be better able to serve here?” Shaking his head, a sigh deflated his shoulders, and he slumped against the crates behind him. “I’ve been going in circles for weeks now.”

“You’re not the only one,” Liviana muttered. A hand gently reached out to touch her knee. She could feel the heat from his palm seeping through her leathers, spreading through her body.

“I’m listening, if you’d like to share,” he said, his voice low.

Biting her lip, she hesitated. And then, everything came spilling out, waters rushing forth from a broken dam. She told him about the horrors she had witnessed from the mages in the ludus- the abominations, the mind control, the demons. She told him about how, ever since she had come to Kirkwall, her black and white rigid world had melted away into blurred shades of gray and how nothing made sense anymore. She told him about Max, her fears and trepidations, how much she missed her brother, a fact that she had not realized until that very moment. 

That was why she was so terrified of meeting him again. Max was her childhood, her home. If he had fallen to blood magic, what else did she have left of her family?

“You have other family, Liviana,” Sebastian held her hands in his, gently stroking her skin with one calloused thumb. “Your parents are alive. And although they’re not related by blood, there’s Hawke. Fenris. Varric. Isabela, although what you see in her, I’m not really sure.” Liviana giggled a bit. “And... me.”

“You?” Her eyes were darkened by the shadows, watching him with almost an open guard. 

“Aye,” he murmured. “Liviana, I…” Turning his head, his gaze helds hers for another searing heartbeat, then dropped, his fingers stilling on her hand. “I don’t have the answers for you.” His voice faltered, and she was positive that that was not what he had originally planned on saying, but still, she could not muster up the energy to question him. “You’re right, the world isn’t clear cut. But that’s the beauty of being free. You have the ability to make your own choices.”

“But how do you know if it’s the right one?” _Do I meet with Max? Do I continue to help Hawke and Anders? Or is siding with Fenris and Ser Cullen the more reasonable answer? Or should I just grab the first ship out of here?_

“You don’t. You choose, and you hope, and you pray. And sometimes it’s the wrong decision. And when it is, it can hurt. But there’s always a lesson to be taken away. Sometimes, the lesson is just not be so stupid and brash,” he chuckled. “And sometimes we don’t learn. But still, we keep trying.”

“Why? Why do we keep trying?”

“Because that’s the only way we find our purpose, discover what the Maker has intended of us, and thereby have true happiness. As for the mages,” he leaned back and sighed, “Their rebellion is getting out of hand. The Chantry clearly specifies that they should be kept in the Circles for their own safety, and they deliberately flout the laws and look where it has gotten them. The entire city, in chaos.”

“You don’t think that templars aren’t even a little responsible for the state of things?”

“I do,” he nodded. “Some of them have lost sight of their purpose, as well. But it doesn’t mean the entire system needs to be toppled. It’s no excuse for the rampant violence and blood that runs through the streets.”

“So you believe that all mages should be firmly ensconced under the templars watch, and yet you are friends with a known apostate, and spend time with his friends, which include two other apostates, one of which is an abomination and the other, a blood mage,” Liviana pointed out mildly. 

“Yes, well, I-” Shrugging, he offered her a half smile. “As I said, I don’t have all the answers either.”

“Everything is so complicated,” she groaned. “Maker.”

“So are you going to talk to your brother?”

Her nod came slow, but sure. “I’ll send the Knight-Captain a note tomorrow.”

“What of your parents?”

“It’s too much to think of right now,” she whispered. The thought had not crossed her mind, except for the briefest of moments years ago. “I’m not the daughter they remember.”

“You’re still their daughter, Liviana,” Sebastian leaned forward and held her hands up higher, close enough to his face that she could feel his breath on her skin. Her heart stuttered a beat. “Evelyn.”

“Please don’t,” came the faint plea, a shiver and gooseflesh spreading down her skin. “I can’t- I’m not-”

“Apologies,” he replied quickly, wincing inwardly at his fumble. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s… fine. It’s fine,” she interrupted him. Wrapping her arms around herself, Liviana seemed to shrink in upon herself, squeezing her eyes tightly closed as if she could block out the swirling rampage of uncertainties and thoughts that threatened to drown her. 

She heard the scrape of wood against tile, and felt the wall of crates to her side fall away only to be replaced by a warm, solid body. With one hand still wrapped around hers, the other slipped securely around her shoulders, holding her tight. “Is this alright?” he asked, breathless, each word barely audible.

Hesitating for just a second, Liviana nodded, and bit by bit, leaned into him. For the first time in forever, she felt…

Relaxed. Warm. Safe. All at once. It was a heady combination.

Between the sonorous drone of the Chant below them, and the steady pulse of his heart, Liviana soon found herself being lulled to sleep. But instead of the expected panic and wariness that should have come at falling asleep in a public, unguarded place, all she found was peace.


	20. Family Ties

The stiffness in her neck made her stir first. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Liviana frowned as she straightened up, lifting her head from where it had been resting on… Sebastian’s shoulder? 

The surrounding crates and hazy light quickly came into focus and she remembered where she was. The Chantry. They had been talking, and he had sat next to her and she had somehow fallen asleep. _That’s new._ Beside her, Sebastian shifted. 

“Mm? Oh. I suppose we both fell asleep,” he smiled at her bashfully. “I wonder what time it is.” Stretching, he rose to his feet, his movements unhurried, languid, reminiscent of a cat, and peered out of the high window. “Sky is starting to lighten, it must be close to dawn. We must have slept almost the entire night. My back certainly agrees.”

Still silent, Liviana nodded, and stood. Biting her lip, she glanced down into the nave. “Sebastian, I…”

“It’s alright, lass. I know you don’t feel for me the same way I do you.” He tenderly tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “But I’m still always going to be here for you if you need a shoulder to lean on, or an ear to listen.”

“That’s not-“ Sighing, she shook her head, the hair he had just secured swinging free once more. “I’m not sure how I feel, to be honest. These emotions are very new to me. And confusing.” 

His smile lit up and grew wider at her admission. Taking a step closer, his fingers gently lifted up her chin so that he could look into her eyes. “I’ll wait,” he promised softly. “Until you figure it out.”

 _So blue. I don’t think even the sky is that brilliant._ Swallowing, she nodded again. “I should go.”

“Be safe, Liviana.”

Pausing to glance behind, she offered him a tentative smile before she disappeared down the narrow stairwell, and hurried out into the pale, gray light.

For as long as she could remember, she had always been a light sleeper. She had had to be, as a gladiator, alert and ready at a moment’s notice to respond to a guard’s beck and call. And then, on the road, there were always those who had thought they would take advantage of a lone woman traveling alone, and her sleep had grown even more fragile, a dagger always under her pillow and her swords in easy reach. To just fall asleep in a strange place, with a person like that… Liviana shook her head. The last person who had slept so close to her was Mara.

She trusted Sebastian. That was the only explanation she could think of. And it was incomprehensible as to why. They had spent time together over the last two, almost three years of course. And they had talked, played dice and cards together, and fought at each other’s sides, but it was the same as with the rest of their crew. Would she have willingly slept next to any of them, let down her defenses so? Fenris. Maybe Isa- No, not her. Not the rest. Aveline? Varric? She couldn’t picture it. Why him? Sebastian was a part of the Chantry clergy, a brother in the faith, devoted to the Maker and Andraste, a fucking prince, of all things. He wasn’t for her, and she not for him. None of it made sense, and there were enough things in her life requiring her attention at the moment.

 _It’s not love_ , she scolded herself. _It’s… infatuation_. His pretty eyes, and that smooth accent. He was also the first person who claimed he wanted more than just her body. Was such a thing even possible? Did he truly want just her? A runaway slave? All she knew was battle and death. What could she offer him besides sex? A future? Children? The idea was laughable.

Yet…

She needed a drink. Was dawn too early?

Pushing the door to the manse open, Liviana slipped inside and headed for her room. “There you are,” a voice called as she reached the threshold of the kitchen.

“Fenris,” she paused. “Need something?”

“Do you have anything planned?” The elf leaned against the door.

“Not today,” she replied. “Got a job tomorrow afternoon guarding some new cargo that Percivale is bringing in.”

“Will you- would you-” Sighing, Fenris slumped in place a bit. “My sister is in town. I sent her coin so she could leave the Imperium, and now she’s here. But the more I think on it, the more I fear it’s a trap and that Danarius has set the whole thing up. I already asked Hawke, but I’d like you to come as well, if you would. We’re going to meet her today at the Hanged Man.”

“Of course,” she agreed readily. “Anything you need. What time?”

“Noon?”

“I’ll be there.”

*** 

_That voice._

She was paralyzed. Her blood froze within her veins, her limbs numb and motionless. That smooth, cultured, condescending voice was far too similar to a certain dominus, to Varinius. The way he moved, bored and elegant all at once, unleashed a flood of memories of the past. The days and nights she had spent in slavery, curled up, bleeding in a tiny stone cell, tending to the carnal appetites of the nobles- she could almost _feel_ the muggy air of Vyrantium clinging to her skin, smell the dusty sand of the training yard. It took all of her strength not to fall upon her knees, chin tucked to her chest, like she had so many times before.

“Liviana?” Hawke glanced over at her. “Are you alright?”

“Liviana?” Danarius floated toward her, his fingers caressing his bearded chin with great interest in his eyes. “Not the Victorem, Liviana of Atropos? My my, it is you. I was there, you know, at the Archon’s ascension games. You were magnificent, my dear.” His lips curled into a sickly sweet smile that made her want to retch. “From the great halls of Minrathous to the grime of the streets. Don’t you miss it my dear?”

“I’d rather be free in the dirt than to be put back into a gilded cage.” As she quietly managed to utter the words, her voice trembling for having dared to speak up, Liviana realized it was true. Never before had she wanted anything so much than to keep her hard won freedom, despite her previous ambivalence to the matter and the almost wistful longing for the structure and safety and purpose she once had. She was free now, her own person, and damn anyone to the Void that tried to take it away from her.

“Hmm,” he replied, feigning disinterest. “As it stands, you may not have a choice. There are those that desire your return as well, Victorem.”

“Too bad they’ll never find out where she is,” Fenris cut in. “You’re dead, Danarius.”

“Enough!” Danarius voice rang through the tavern, and the thrall that had taken hold of Liviana was broken.

Clearing her mind of the chilling fear that had gripped her, Liviana shoved her sword into a chink in a guard’s armor, and viciously twisted her blade. Every ounce of that blinding terror she had felt at the sight of Fenris’ master from the moment he casually sauntered into the room, she poured into her blades, the adrenaline fueling each parry and thrust and kill.

A snarl ripped from her throat as she whipped her swords out, one embedded straight into the head of a demon, the other ripping through the fragile skin of the last man’s throat. Lowering her arms, Liviana watched impassively as Fenris stalked up to his fallen master, and dug his clawed gauntlet into his neck.

“You are no longer my master,” he growled. The lines on his body glowed like the sun, and Danarius was dead. A single heart lay in Fenris’ palm, shuddering once, twice, and fell still. Throwing it down to the side, he raised his head and fixed his stare on his sister, the elf cowering near the stairs.

“I had to,” she begged. “He was going to make me a magister. You have no idea what we went through, what I’ve had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance.”

“You sold out your own brother to become a magister,” Fenris spat. “You have no chance at all, now.” His boots stomped against the wooden floor, slick with blood, murderous intent written across his contorted features.

“Wait, Fenris,” Hawke called out. “She’s your sister. She’s as much of a victim as you are.”

Liviana could feel Fenris’ glare turn to her without even looking at him. The heat of his eyes burned. “It’s your choice,” was all she said.

His eyes stared down at his sister, trembling before him. No one dared to even breathe. “Get out,” he finally snapped. Not daring to waste a second, Varania bolted for the door. And paused, a few steps away.

“You competed for those markings, Leto,” she drew herself upright and glared at his back. “You wanted them. And when you won, you used the boon to have Mother and I freed. Freedom was no boon. I see you now, and I think you received the better part of the bargain.” And with that, she was gone.

Liviana watched as the red-haired elf disappeared into the streets. His own sister sold him out to his master, just for more power. Wasn’t that typical of a mage? Would… Max…?

“I don’t know what I sought from her. I thought discovering my past would bring me a sense of belonging, but I was wrong,” Fenris muttered bitterly to no one in particular. “Magic has tainted that, too. There is nothing left for me to reclaim. I am alone."

Eyes, warm and tender, regarded the elf. Moving even closer until they were only a handspan away, Hawke reached out to gently touch his shoulder. “You have me. No matter what, I’m here.”

Fenris’ stony facade melted ever so slightly at the reassurance. “I… I need to get out of here.”

Nodding, Hawke agreed. “Let’s go then.”

“What in the Void happened here? Another ‘Vint that got on Broody’s bad side?” Stepping down into the common room, Varric studied the gruesome scene before him, all of the patrons still huddled off in a far corner.

“Oy,” the bartender, Corff, called out from across the tavern, “Who’s gonna clean up this mess?”

“You two get out of here,” Liviana jerked her chin towards Fenris and Hawke. “Varric, help me with the bodies and I’ll fill you in.”

Rifling through the pockets, she pulled out the few pouches of coins she could find. Fenris wouldn’t want money tainted by Danarius and his thugs, she knew. Nor did she wish to take it. Gathering up the silver, she tossed the bags down on the bar and slid them over to Corff. “For damages. Buy everyone a round if anything’s leftover.” Grunting, he took the coin.

It was a simple matter to drag the bodies out back, where they could pile them against the wall. Grabbing a tattered piece of faded cloth, stained with Maker knew what, Liviana tossed it haphazardly over the corpses. “Hey,” she beckoned a passing kid over, one of the many urchins that roamed Lowtown. “Find a guard and tell them you saw bodies here, so they can take them out.” 

With wide eyes, the scrawny girl snatched up the silver the woman had tossed her, turning it over in her fingers and watching the sunlight dance off the shiny metal. “You betcha!”

“So,” Varric leaned against the wall. “Who is this?”

“Danarius. Fenris’ old master. His sister led him here, in exchange for the magister helping her move up the ranks,” Liviana scowled. “Disgusting, but predictable.”

“That’s some shit,” the dwarf sighed. “But it’s all over now?”

“Yep. Fenris found out that he actually competed for those markings in order to ask for a boon. He asked for his mother’s and sister’s freedom. His sister was not appreciative,” she sighed. 

Varric glanced askance at her. “She didn’t want to be free?”

“Freedom was hard enough for me,” Liviana stared vacantly up at the sky, one hand idly twirling the end of her braid. “For an elf who stayed in Tevinter? The magisters have no use for a free elf. I don’t blame her for resenting it.”

“But to sell out her own brother…”

“You don’t understand,” she sighed. Yanking sharply on her braid, her eyes cut over to him, looking every bit like the storm they resembled. “If he had his memories, he would have expected it as well. It’s Tevinter. And we were slaves. Loyalty has no meaning there, unless it’s forged by fear. He forgot. I wish I could.”

“Your brother isn’t like her.”

Her chin sharply jerked up, eyes narrowing. “I never said anything about my brother.”

“Didn’t have to,” Varric stared right back at her without faltering. “I know it’s on your mind.”

“Is not,” she muttered.

“Is too,” he countered, ignoring her snort of disbelief. “You’ve been distant since you found out he’s there, well, even more so than you usually are. It’s all you’ve been able to think about. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah, you love me,” Varric grinned and ducked her half-hearted swipe. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I mean-” Biting her lip, Liviana kicked a rock with one boot, watching as it skittered across the dirt. “I don’t know him. He’s basically a stranger to me. And does it even matter? He’s a mage, and he’ll be in a Circle until he dies.”

Varric tugged on her sleeve. “We need drinks for this. Come on.” 

Obediently, Liviana followed him back into the tavern and up the stairs, into the little room where he had spent so many hours teaching her to read and write these last few months. Taking up her customary chair, she accepted the goblet of wine he passed him, barely even noticing the taste as she sipped.

“Families are messy,” the dwarf began without preamble. “My brother tried to kill me. Hawke pretty much lost his siblings to the Circle. Sebastian’s brothers all died. I think the rest of our friends are all only kids and orphans to boot.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Your point?”

“My point is…” Leaning forward, he held her gaze. “You have a unique opportunity here. To have at least a chance at an amicable relationship with your brother. It may not be the sibling bond you’ve dreamed of, but the chance is there. The question is, are you brave enough to take it?”

Drawing her legs up to her chest, Liviana rested her chin on her knees and fiddled with the stem of her glass. “I don’t know,” she eventually replied.

“I think you are,” Varric nodded confidently. “You’re brave, and strong- not just physically, but mentally as well. Weak people don’t work at changing their prejudices, nor do they actively work against their fears and distrust. I know you helped the Mage Underground before it went bust. Don’t look at me like that,” he chuckled at her glare. “Anders didn’t tell me. I have my own eyes around the city, Firefly.” She stuck her tongue out at him. Ignoring her, he continued, “So I think, no, I _know_ you’re strong enough to meet him. And come what may, you’re strong enough to deal with whatever happens next.”

Sighing, she drained her glass and reached for the bottle to pour herself another. “You have a lot of confidence of me, Varric.”

“I know a sure thing when I see one,” he shrugged. “And I am privileged to know you and call you friend.”

“Oh. That’s, um… Odd.” Stunned into silence, Liviana wasn’t quite sure how to respond to his earnest sentiment. He was privileged to call her friend? She wasn’t anyone special. Just a nobody, going nowhere with her life, stuck in a cycle of violence and death. “Why?”

“Because you’re a good person. Because you’ve seen the worst of people, and still want to help. Because you’re willing to give even those you rightfully distrust the benefit of the doubt. Because you help me keep Hawke in line, and you make Choir Boy blush more than I ever thought it was possible for one man to blush without spontaneously combusting when you’re around,” Varric grinned. “Take your pick.”

Throwing her head back, Liviana laughed, her eyes now bright and clear. Taking another sip of her wine, she smirked, “It’s really not hard to do.”

“Yes, but you do it so effortlessly. Speaking of Choir Boy, and you…”

“Not even for a friend,” she grinned. 

“It was worth a try,” Varric heaved a sigh. “I’ll get it out of you one of these days. So. Gonna contact your brother?”

With a flourish, Liviana drained the rest of her wine and plopped the glass onto the table. “Lend me a piece of paper?”


	21. Interlude

“Leto.”

“Evelyn.”

They both stared at each other, silent, tense, waiting. Liviana broke first. Giggling, she shook her head. “Maker, let’s never do that again.”

“Agreed,” Fenris grinned at her. Holding the door to Hawke’s home open, he swept her a formal bow. “After you, serah.”

“You’re a in good mood,” she noted. Glancing over at Hawke, a smirk curled up at one edge of her lips, taking in the sight of both of the men grinning like fools, their eyes soft and gentle. “Ah, I see. About damn time, both of you.”

Shrugging, Hawke leaned over to press a kiss to Fenris’ forehead as he entered. “Some things are worth waiting for.”

“Took you guys long enough,” Isabella called out at the sight of the trio. She was sprawled out over the sofa, one leg dangling off the edge, her head resting in Merrill’s lap. Varric was seated at the small writing desk, Aveline in an armchair, and even Sebastian and Anders were there, speaking quietly on the other side of the room.

“Sorry,” Hawke replied. “We ran into some… stuff.”

Liviana snorted as she settled herself onto the rug, a bottle of whiskey and a glass in one hand, Millie pressing into her side as she stretched out. “Is that what they call dragging each other into every other alley to suck face called?”

“It’s not- We weren’t-” Hawke spluttered as Fenris glared at her.

“You were watching us?”

“I caught up to you both a couple streets back,” she grinned, wholly unrepentant. “What? I think it’s cute.”

“Was something on your face?” Merrill piped up. “Ooh, like a snake bite? Is that why you were sucking his face? Although, mutual snake bites on the face would be improbable, I suppose.”

“It means they were kissing, sweet thing. A lot,” Isabela reached up to pat the elf on her head.

“Oh! That’s lovely!”

Grumbling about voyeurs and violations of privacy, Hawke sunk down next to Liviana on the floor, a low groan escaping his as he stretched. “Maker. This is just what I needed. A nice evening in, with everyone here, and no talk of templar or mages-” he directed that at Anders, who just shrugged, and leaned against the wall. 

Mages. Liviana frowned at the whiskey in her hand. Tomorrow. Ser Cullen had written her back after she sent him a note, and scheduled a meeting for tomorrow. Tomorrow she would finally meet Max again. Ever since she had received word of the time, her nerves had refused to let her relax. Pacing around the house, stalking down the streets, hunting a few slavers down that she had been tracking- nothing helped. So now, alcohol was her last resort.

“Whoa,” Anders watched her as she tossed back her third shot in a row. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“Call me sweetheart again, and you’ll find out,” came the flippant reply. Fenris was the only other person who knew the source of her agitation, having been there when she received the messenger at their house, and he just watched her with a touch of sympathy in his eyes. She hated it. Shoving her glass aside, she just raised the bottle to her lips instead, and drank deep.

“I think you should slow down.” The floor creaked a bit as Sebastian approached her, kneeling down to reach out with one of his hands to take away the bottle she held. Pointedly and wordlessly, she turned away from him. “Ah. Well then. Far be it from me to stop you.” Liviana didn’t even look at him. She already knew that his eyes would hold only worry and questions she didn’t want to answer right now.

“Leave her alone,” Fenris called out. “She just wants to drink, so let her. In fact,” lifting his own glass, he nodded at her. “Cheers.”

Pursing her lips, Isabela sat up, one arm draped over the back of her seat, and studied Liviana. “You know. I’ve never really seen you drunk. Like, flat out, incoherent, sloppy shitfaced.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Aveline sighed. “This is supposed to be a nice, quiet evening, remember?”

“If you’re old and boring, maybe,” the pirate shot back. “Like you. The rest of us like to live a little.”

“Is it really living if you’re puking your brains out into the street?” Anders asked.

“I prefer to puke into a vase,” Hawke grinned. “Much classier like that.”

“Andraste preserve me,” Aveline shook her head. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Finally setting down the bottle, Liviana flopped back on the plush rug and closed her eyes. And giggled. “Whoa, there it is.”

“Hitting you now?” Fenris stood over her with a tiny smile on his face.

“Yeeeeeep.”

“So why are you getting drunk?” Merrill asked.

Extending her arm, Liviana pointed it at the elf, her hand wobbling with the effort of keeping it still. “Reasons. Now shut your face, you adorable, sweet, cute-”

“Is she trying to insult her?”

“-blood mage, you.”

“Ah there it is.” Anders grinned.

“I love this dog. So soft.” Wrapping her arms around Millie’s flanks, Liviana nuzzled the dog’s neck and sighed. “Such a good pup. Dog’s don’t do magic, you know. So much better than people.”

The night quickly deteriorated into chaos as Hawke, Isabela, and even Merrill sunk to Liviana’s level of drunkenness, while the rest watched on with varying degrees of amusement and exasperation. 

“But Fenriiiiis-”

“For the last time, I am not taking my shirt off, Isabela,” the elf growled. “Go bother Sebastian.”

“Why would you tell her that,” the man sighed as the pirate gleefully launched herself at him. Across the room, Aveline had her eyes closed in an attempt to ignore the women perched on either side of her, Merrill on her left and Liviana on her right.

“You have such pretty hair,” Liviana cooed, running her fingers through the strawberry locks.

“I’ve never seen hair this color. Until I met you, obviously. Because then I saw you, and your hair, and it’s so shiny. How do you make it so shiny? Is that a human thing? Will you teach me? Are you reciting the Chant? Why are you reciting the Chant of Light? Oh! Do that one, about the part with Andraste taking to her army. I like that part. No, where are you going? Don’t leave- oof.”

Rising to her feet, Aveline shoved them both off, the women tumbling to the ground in a pile of limbs and giggles. “I can’t take this anymore,” she groaned. “Varric, you’re in charge now. Just make sure none of them give the guard a reason to drop by.”

“You mean like Hawke and Isabela naked in the street?” Varric asked, pointing to the door and path of discarded clothes strewn over the floor.

“Oh for- HAWKE! PIRATE! GET BACK IN HERE!”

“Mother’s calling!” came the screech from outside, followed by raucous laughter. 

“SO HELP ME, I WILL COUNT TO TEN!”

Still lost in giggles, Liviana pulled herself up onto the sofa next to Anders while Merrill wedged herself in beside her. “Merrill. I’m sorry I held you at swordpoint the first time I met you. And I’m sorry for calling you an abomination, Anders.”

“No you’re not,” the mage snorted. “You’ll wake up tomorrow, with the worst hangover in history, and call me an abomination again.”

“Mmm you’re right,” she snuggled into his side. “But for now, I’m sorry. Merrill, why do you smell so good? Like flowers and sunshine. Did I tell you I really like the necklace you gave me? Because I do. I really do.”

“Maker, it’s like she’s a whole different person,” Sebastian muttered to Varric, who was furiously writing beside him. “What are you doing?”

“Recording everything she says, so I can tease her about it later,” the dwarf grinned. “This is gold, my friend.”

“You must have a death wish,” Fenris snorted. 

“Obviously. I mean, I do count Hawke as one of my best friends.”

The door slammed open as Aveline swung the heavy portal open, dragging the Champion and Isabela back, both as naked as they day they were born, into the house. “I can’t believe you both,” she spluttered, flinging the pair down onto the ground, both of them cackling at her rage. “I’m going home before I throw them both in a cell just for the fun of it. Both of you. Stay. In. Here.”

“Yes, Mother,” they both called out as the guard-captain stormed out.

“Mom’s mad at us.”

“Oh no!”

Dissolving into more giggles, Hawke pulled Fenris down to the floor next to him, the elf letting up a very undignified yelp as he crashed down beside his lover. “What-”

“Cuddles,” Hawke demanded imperiously, wrapping his limbs around Fenris. “Now.”

“Put on some clothes at least.”

“You didn’t say that last ni- Ow ow ow! Fine, I’ll get dressed.”

“They’re so sweet,” Merrill sighed. “I love love.”

“Livvy, come cuddle with me. I feel so neglected,” Isabela pouted.

“Don’t wanna,” Liviana muttered. “Anders is warm.”

“I will!” Bouncing off the chair, Merrill snuggled herself into Isabela’s embrace, leaving an opening on the sofa that Sebastian immediately took.

Liviana instantly released Anders and pressed herself to Sebastian’s side instead, sighing happily as she nuzzled her face into his chest. “You smell good, too. Like myrrh and sandalwood and mmm.”

“Happy to oblige, my lady,” he smiled.

The chatter and noises of the others fell away as Liviana’s world disappeared into only the feel of Sebastian, the scent of his skin and beat of his heart echoing in her head. Warmth. Safety. In her drunken haze, she relished in the feel of him. Was this what love was? Was she falling in love with this man? Did she even know how? Or was love just something you just stumbled into one day without realizing it? All she knew was that she had never felt this way with anyone before. Treasured, like she was something precious. Wanted.

“Tired?” Dragging his fingers against her scalp, his chuckle rumbled deep in his chest as she all but purred under his ministrations.

“A little. Don’t wanna sleep here though.”

“Do you want to go home?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “But it’s so far. Leagues and leagues away.”

“Liviana, it’s three streets over.”

“ _Leagues_.”

Sebastian laughed as he stood up, his hand securely taking hold of hers as he pulled her upright. “We’re leaving,” he called out to no one in particular. “I’m taking her home.”

“Ooh,” Isabela giggled. “Need any help?”

“No, thank you,” he replied primly. “Varric. Good luck with them.”

“I’ll be fine,” the dwarf waved them off. “Most of them are already asleep. Hey, Blondie, fancy a game of Diamondback?”

“I… Sure,” Anders shrugged, pouring himself another glass of wine as Varric sat across from him. “Why not.”

“See you guys later.”

Nodding, Sebastian wrapped one arm around Liviana, keeping her steady as they walked out into the street. “Mmph,” he heard her mumble. “Fenhedis. Why is everything spinning? Make everything stop spinning, please.”

He laughed as he pulled her closer to him. One arm around her back, he knelt to slip the other under her knees, and scooped her up. “Is that better, my lady?”

Liviana threw her arms around his neck, wiggling around in his arms until she found the perfect spot, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. “Much better,” she sighed.

Tilting her head up, she stared up at the night’s sky, the light of the moons reflected in her darkened eyes. A few people were still out on the streets, scurrying along, rushing to get to the safety of their homes, their leather booted feet scraping against the dust and sand that littered the stone pavement. Flowers draped across one balcony ruffled in the breeze, one solitary bloom shaking loose, drifting down, down, falling right onto her outstretched palm. Holding up the ivory white petals to her face, Liviana breathed in the heady scent and began singing, so softly that Sebastian almost missed it.

“ _A dormir va la rosa de los rosales y a dormir va mi niño porque ya es tarde.  
Este niño chiquito no tiene cuna. Su padre es carpintero le va a hacer una._

_Mi niño se va a dormir con los ojitos cerrados,  
como duermen los jilgueros encima de los tejados. _

_Este niño tiene sueño, muy pronto se va a dormir;  
tiene un ojito cerrado y otro no lo puede abrir._”

The haunting melody melted away into the night, the last notes lingering in the shadows that surrounded them. “That was lovely,” Sebastian breathed. “And... in Antivan.”

“My mother used to sing it to me,” Liviana whispered. “When I was little. I almost forgot.”

Brushing his lips against her raven hair, Sebastian smiled and pressed a kiss to her head. “It’s beautiful.” Hesitantly, he bit his lip as old memories stirred. He had planned to wait to reveal his knowledge to her, but… Perhaps this was for the best. It seemed the drink had loosened her memory, and she might remember. “Do you remember much of your childhood?”

“Bits and pieces,” she murmured. “I remember the gardens. I used to play outside for hours, always running from my nurse when she came to drag me back inside. Mother said the sun would ruin my complexion, and it wasn’t suitable for a lady. But Max always got to go outside, and wherever he was, I wanted to be. Even if all we did was fight when we were together. A pair of hellions,” she giggled. “That’s what Sofia called us.”

“Do you… remember taking any trips?”

“Trips?” She glanced up at him. “To where?”

“Starkhaven?” Sebastian held his breath in his throat, his heart beating frantically at his ribs. It was loud enough for her to hear, he knew it.

“No, I…” A frown creased her brow. “Wait. I remember… Marble. And gold. And the stiffest dress made of silver and silk that was scratchy around my neck and wrists. It was heavy, too. I hated the thing.”

“I remember,” he chuckled. “You sat down in the middle of the foyer and refused to budge until your father had to drag you upright.”

“Yes! Oh, he and Mother were furious and- Wait.” Her muscles tensed in his arms, Liviana shrinking in on herself as her mind tried to process what he was saying. “We- I- You know me? From… before?”

“Aye,” he confessed. “You were five, I think? Your family was in Starkhaven for my father’s birthday.”

“Oh,” was all she said. “That’s, um… I… There was something else, too, wasn’t there? I remember standing before the throne, and looking up with a circle of people around me.”

“That was…” Sighing, Sebastian clutched her a little tighter. “Your betrothal. You were pledged to my brother that day, Julien, to be wed when you reached your sixteenth birthday.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Hinges creaked as he shouldered the door to the Hightown estate open, the click of the latch echoing through the empty chambers. Standing there, their figures wreathed in shadows, Sebastian stared down at her. What to tell her? That it would be a simple matter to transfer the betrothal to him instead? That the contract still existed, since his brother had not been inclined to get married anyways and had always insisted that there was still a chance that Evelyn Trevelyan could be found? That, despite her protests, he still believed she would make for an excellent princess? That he still wanted to marry her? His impulsive nature warred with his heart to tell her everything. But this wasn’t the right time. She had remembered a bit, that was enough for tonight. Later, when she was sober, he would ask her again. “I just… thought you might wanted to know.”

Lost in her own muddled thoughts, Liviana regarded him for a few moments more, then laid her head back onto his shoulder. “So I might have ended up as your sister-in-law? That’s weird.”

“Aye. Which one is your room?”

Pointing him down into the service corridor, Liviana didn’t notice his frown as the realization that she had been staying in such cramped squalor dawned on him. “The other rooms were too big,” she shrugged when he asked. “Too silent. It’s better here.” Her spine popped as she stretched, now standing on her own two feet, a massive yawn escaping her. “Sleepy.” Padding over to her little cot, she collapsed down onto the mattress, still fully dressed.

His gaze searched the room until he spied a roughspun blanket, neatly folded at the base of her bed. Unfurling the square piece of cloth, he laid it over her prone form.

“You could stay,” she murmured, one eye open to watch him as he moved about her room.

He could, couldn’t it? How easy it would to just slip under the covers with her, hold her in his arms, wake up to her beautiful face in the morning. Feel her soft skin against his, taste her lips once more, hear her-

No. The temptation for more would be too great. If he broke his vows now to be with her, he would no longer be worthy of her. She deserved a whole man, one who was strong in his convictions, nothing less than a prince.

“I shouldn’t,” he knelt down beside her. Leaning over, he left a soft kiss against her cheek. “Sleep well, my heart.”

“Mmph,” was all she managed before the Fade claimed her. Smiling to himself, Sebastian slipped back out, thinking of all the ways he could finally tell her how much he loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured the DA2 crew needed an entire chapter just for pure nonsense.
> 
> The song and translation Liviana sings is here - https://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=4182. I was googling Spaniard lullabies and I fell in love with that one.
> 
> Millie is Hawke's dog, btw. I forget if I introduced her earlier. I think I did, but if not, her name is Millicent. Bethany named her.
> 
> Liviana doesn't get drunk often. But when she does, she gets super touchy feely apparently.


	22. Reunion

She was dead. Or dying. The distinction wasn’t clear. Groaning, her voice raspy and her head pounding, Liviana pushed herself up bit by agonizing bit. _What…_ Her boots, as well as the rest of her armor, was still on. What had happened last night?

Stumbling out of her room, she lurched across the kitchen to the water pump in the corner of the room, and drew herself a long drink. Bucket by bucket, she dragged the water and dumped it into a basin that she had set up in the room next to hers some months ago for her bath. Stripping herself of her filthy clothes and shaking out her long tresses, Liviana dunked her head under the cold, clear surface. The shock of the icy temperature jolted her body into alertness, all her nerve receptors screaming at the intrusion. Wincing, she lowered herself into the tub, and set about scrubbing herself clean.

 _I got drunk at Hawke’s last night, that much I know. I remember hugging someone… blonde? Kaffas, don’t tell me I hugged Anders of all people! I am never drinking that much again. And then… Sebastian. Sebastian brought me back here._ She frowned. Something about the thought of the man brought with it an odd sense of unease that she couldn’t quite place. Had he said something? Had she? Wracking her brain, she eventually gave up on the process after all she could come up with was a worsening headache. _I suppose I’ll find out soon enough, next time I see him anyways._

The towel she grabbed was rough on her bare skin, but she barely noticed. Today was the day. A bell after noon, Ser Cullen had said. A quick look out of her window told her she had around two hours left to make herself presentable, and get to the Gallows. 

Her normal routine was fairly simple. Rub some talc powder into her hair, if it had been awhile since she washed it last, then braid it into a single, tight plait. A plain cotton tunic, over leather leggings, with her unadorned leather armor over it, and the the silverite bracers that Hawke had gifted her. But today was special, wasn’t it?

Brushing out her locks with the inlaid dawnstone and dragonbone comb that Isabela had nicked for her awhile back, Liviana braided her hair carefully into multiple strands, and piled them high on her head to pin them in a semblance of a bun, or a crown. A clean tunic, and a pair of leather breeches were next. Forgoing her normal set of armor, Liviana pulled out a second set from underneath her bed. She had pilfered it from a warehouse about a month ago, and had just finished making the necessary repairs. This one was also leather, but the material had been dyed black and finely tooled with interlocking swirls along that breastplate, and inlaid with runes and panels of strategically placed silverite and drakestone. Something a merchant, or a lesser noble might wear, not a runaway slave.

Her swordbelt and the sheath for her knives were last, the latter fastened securely around one thigh. Slipping into the room down the hall, Liviana examined her reflection in the broken mirror that resided in one of the upstair rooms. She looked… Tired. Wary. And definitely hungover. It would have to do.

Her mind raced in pointless circles on the walk down to the docks, a trip that normally took a good thirty minutes but seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Tossing a coin to the boatman that ferried visitors and templars between the island and the city, she settled herself in the prow of the boat, staring vacantly out at the dark waves.

Sweat covered her palms underneath the gloves she wore, making her hands feel almost slimy. Ripping off the offending material, she stuffed them into a back pocket, rubbing her hands on her sides in a futile attempt to dry them off. Maybe her armor was too tight. It was so hard to breathe. Her vision jumped in time with her pulse, the roar of her blood thundering through her aching head, her lungs struggling to fill themselves with enough air to sustain her.

“Are you alright, serah?”

Liviana jumped at the voice. Turning, she swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in her throat. An unfamiliar templar eyed her with his brow furrowed, soft brown eyes watching her with concern. “Y-yes,” she managed to nod. “I’m fine.”

Studying her for a moment more, the man gave her a sharp nod, and jumped out of the boat the minute it docked. He held out his hand expectantly, and for once, Liviana gladly took a stranger’s aid. She wasn’t sure if her legs would have moved of their own accord anyways.

The open courtyard was sparsely populated at this time of the day, most of people inside or hiding in the shade to avoid the heat of the midday sun. Kirkwall wasn’t as nearly as hot as Tevinter had been in the summer, but the humidity was still oppressive when trapped within walls. The constant sea breeze didn’t penetrate the walls of the Gallows.

Slipping off down a side corridor, Liviana caught sight of the Knight-Captain standing before a gated wall, his arms crossed over his heavy plated chest. He was a rather handsome specimen, she thought idly to herself as she approached. But the distance and the ghosts that lingered in his eyes, as well as the blossoming camaraderie they shared, kept her at armslength.

“Ser Cullen,” she greeted the man with a tilt of her chin.

“Messere,” he bowed formally, moving to unlock the gate for her. “You look... tired."

"Hangover," she muttered.

Chuckling, Cullen just shook his head and swung the iron bars open. "At least you smell nice. I mean-" His eyes flew open. "Not that I noticed, or that you normally smell bad, or _Maker's breath_. In here. I can give you an hour, no more.”

“That’s plenty of time,” she giggled at his rising blush. Pausing as she placed one foot through the door, she laid one hand on his bracer. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Of course,” the corners of his amber eyes crinkled as he smiled through his embarrassment. No, he wasn’t just attractive. With a smile like that, Cullen was devastating. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t smile that often.

The gate clanged shut behind her as she stepped through, the key grating in the lock. She stood in a smaller courtyard, the edges lined with trees and shrubs that bore varying crops of fruit and flowers, filling the air with a rich fragrance that settled over the secluded area like a stifling blanket. Scanning the space, her eyes glossing over the few others that sat with their tomes, quietly reading, she locked onto him. He would have stood out, no matter where he was.

Max glanced up from the book in his lap at the sound of her boot softly padding against the stones, so different from the whisper quiet slippers the mages wore or the clang of the armor of the templars. “It’s you,” he stared up at her. “Who…?”

“Hello, Max,” Liviana blinked, her stony countenance slowly melting away as her gaze swept over him. His face was so familiar to her, yet not. A perfect combination of their father and mother, with a roguish air about him that was entirely him. “Or, I suppose, Maximilian. Maximus?”

“I hated the name Maxwell,” he murmured, barely breathing, with eyes still wide and frozen. “So I decided one day I would be Maximillian instead. And then Maximus, the day after.”

“You refused to answer to Maxwell at all, until Father threatened to hang you upside down from the cherry tree in the gardens,” her lips twitched into a hint of a smile at the memory. “He was carrying out by the ankle, with you screaming I’ll be Maxwell, I’ll be Maxwell, the entire way.”

“Cat.” He shot to his feet, his book forgotten on the bench. One trembling hand reached up to gently touch her cheek, as if he were afraid she would disappear if he handled her too abruptly. “You’re alive. You’re really-”

With a choked sob, Max grabbed her arms and yanked her into his chest, wrapping her in a crushing hug that made it impossible to breathe. She didn’t care. Squeezing him as tight as she could, she felt his tears splash upon her head. “Hi.”

“You-” Max gasped, torn between wanting to see her face and wanting to keep her as close to him as possible. “You’re here, you’re alive, you’re here. How are you here? What happened? Where have you been all these years?”

Pulling free of his embrace, Liviana sat on the bench underneath a small maple tree that provided just enough shade for the two of them and patted the seat next to her, into which he dropped like a sack of stones. “It’s not a pleasant story.”

“Tell me.”

“That day we were out riding,” she began. “I got lost. There were rabbits, and I wanted to catch one.”

“I remember that,” he grimaced. “I yelled at you for thinking you were fast enough to catch one, called you-”

“A stupid slowpoke babyface, I remember,” she smiled wryly. “And I called you-”

“A stupider boy, as if boy were the worst insult you could think of,” he chuckled. 

“It was,” she nodded. “I mean, I was six. I wanted to prove you wrong, so I snuck off to follow the rabbits’ trail. I think I spent a day in the woods? And I eventually found a group of men. I thought they would help me find you and Tía Marguerida again.” Closing her eyes, she shuddered. “They were slavers.” A sharp inhale beside her told her all she needed to know of Max’s reaction. “I fought back, naturally. Tío Benicio’s lessons were still fresh in my mind, and I had that little dagger on me. I was sold to a ludus, to a gladiator school.”

“Evelyn-”

“No,” she shook her head forcefully. “That’s not- My name is Liviana now. Evelyn is long gone, Max.” Lifting her gaze, she offered her a small, sad smile. “But you can still call me Cat, if you want.”

“Cat,” he nodded somberly, gathering her hands up in his own. “So you were a gladiator?”

“The Victorem of the entire Imperium,” she informed with with a touch of smug pride. “I won the entire games for the Archon’s ascension, back in 29.”

“Of course you did,” he looked at her as if it were the most obvious thing in the entire world. “You’re my baby sister.”

Ducking her head to hide her grin, Liviana cleared her throat. “I escaped, in 34, after an… incident.” Should she tell him more? What if he thought her a monster? The things she had done in order to survive… Would he condemn her? Would he despise her? She wouldn’t blame him, if he did. Her crimes disgusted herself enough.

“Hey,” he tugged on her hand, noticing her reticence. “You survived. No matter what you had to do to escape, you survived. I’m sure the bastards deserved it anyhow.”

“Maybe,” she murmured. “It’s done, regardless of my feelings on the matter. I took random jobs for awhile, caravan protection, spent some time on a ship, until I came here. This city has a slaver infestation,” she scowled. “So I decided to stay for a bit, help out some new friends I made.” Sucking in a deep breath of air, she steadied herself to say the next words. “There’s also a lot of blood mages here.”

Maxwell sagged a bit, his shoulders slumping even as he nodded. “This place…” he sighed. “The Circle in Ostwick was nice. And our uncle, Father’s younger brother, is the Knight-Commander there, so I was treated well. But some of his opponents were claiming I was being coddled and pampered, so he was forced to send me away in order to prove his loyalty to the Order. To here.”

“It’s bad,” she muttered quietly. Glancing about to check for prying ears, Maxwell only dipped his chin once to signify his agreement.

“There’s Tranquil everywhere, and talks of revolution in the shadows,” he replied as quietly as he could. “I’ve done my best to remain neutral, but really, only the Loyalists are safe right now, and even they walk a fine line.” At her questioning look, he explained, “There are several fraternities among the mages, but three main ones. Loyalists support the templars and the Circles. Libertarians want to be free of Chantry rule, and some of them are getting violent about pursuing that route. They call themselves the Resolutionists. I’m an Aequitarian. We hold to the belief that all mages must be ethical and moral, regardless of Chantry law. That magic indeed must help and serve man.”

“Oh. That is... good.” Liviana’s eyes flickered from her face, down to his hands, where the sleeves of his robes covered his wrists. _Maker, I hope he’s telling me the truth. If he’s truly a blood mage, I don’t know what I would do now._

Noticing where her gaze was focused, Maxwell pushed up the sleeve of his robe for her to see. “No scars,” he murmured. “It’s never even crossed my mind as an option, Cat.”

A deep blush rose up to cover her face when she realized he knew what she had been looking for. “I had hoped so,” her smile wavered. “But I’ve seen so much. So many demons, so much blood. I was so afraid that you- that you would be just like them.”

“I would die first, than resort to that. I swear to you on everything I hold sacred, that will never happen.”

A wave of relief so strong that it left her reeling crashed into her as she studied his emerald eyes, and found only earnest conviction within. He was still her big brother, still her Maximilian after all these years. Liviana blinked, trying her to best to keep her tears at bay. “I’m so glad I found you.”

“Technically, I found you,” he teased. “I saw you, and I thought you were a ghost at first. I never expected you to actually be you.”

“It took me by surprise as well. How are our parents? Do you hear anything from them?”

“Mother didn’t take your disappearance very well,” Max admitted with a grimace. “And then, the discovery of my magic a few months later made things worse. She’s alive still, but very sickly and frail. Father has taken one of our cousins as his heir. But now that you’re alive, you would be heir,” he perked up at the thought. “The Trevelyan estate is yours and why are you shaking your head at me?”

“Max, I’m an escaped slave,” she sighed. “And possibly wanted for murder back in Tevinter. I’ve lived my entire life as this,” her hands gestured to her swords and armor, “Without the faintest idea of how to be a lady. I can’t be heir.”

“But you are going to see Mother and Father, right?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “One day. It- It hasn’t crossed my mind much.”

“Liar,” he snorted. 

An hour passed in the blink of an eye as they talked about everything that came to mind. He told her about the day he came into his magic, and the time he burned his own eyebrows off, and she told him of Llomerryn and the rich characters that inhabited the pirate refuge.

“The Knight-Captain is looking at me," he glanced up. "Do you know him?”

“We drink together sometime. What?” Giggling at her brother’s open-mouthed stare, she reached over to tug on a lock of his hair. “He’s a nice man.”

“I’ll take your word for that. He’s better than some, I’ll give him that,” he muttered. Raising his voice as the templar approached, Max nodded. “Knight-Captain.”

“Trevelyan,” Cullen responded. “Liviana, it’s time.”

“Right.” Turning back to Max, she surprised herself by going to him first, and wrapping her arms around him in a vice-like hug. “Be safe, Max.”

“You too. I’m glad you came. Write to me?” He poked her cheek with one finger, laughing as she swatted him away.

“I can do that? But I thought letters were…” Liviana trailed off. “Samson and that mage…”

“As long as the letters are sent through the proper channels, they’re allowed,” Cullen responded. “You can send them to me if you like, and I’ll make sure he gets them.”

“And you’ll be reading them, of course,” she noted. At least he has the courtesy to look embarrassed by it.

“It’s required,” he muttered.

“I’ll write, then. I need the practice anyways,” Liviana smiled and took her brother’s hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “See you, Maximus.”

“Later, Kitty Cat.”

“Kitty Cat?” Cullen asked as they walked back toward the gate with a touch of laughter coloring his voice.

“Don’t make me regret saving your life, templar,” Liviana growled.

“I would not dream of it. By the way, are we still on for next week?”

Glancing up at him, she frowned. “You know I’m only letting you teach me chess so that I can beat you one day and wipe that Void-taken smirk off your face,” she grumbled.

Grinning at her with the same said smirk, Cullen chuckled. “I’m counting on that. And I look forward to it.”

“As long as you understand. Next week,” she nodded. With a bounce in her step that had not been there before, Liviana descended the stairs down to the docks, and leaned against a post as she waited for the boat to return.

She had finally found her brother. Wrapping her arms around herself, Liviana grinned. She had her brother back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Max!
> 
> So he's gonna be around for the rest of the story-ish. Any ideas on who he should romance, if anyone? Cassandra? Dorian? Josephine? Rylen?


	23. A Nightingale's Warning

“Hawke? What are you doing here?”

The Champion waved at her as he climbed the last few steps to the Chantry, Fenris a few steps behind. “Got a message from the Grand Cleric that she needed my help with something. You sneaking off to see your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Pointedly ignoring the leer on his face, Liviana pulled the door open and stepped into the perfumed foyer. “I haven’t seen him for a few days, not since that night you were running around Hightown with your lily white arse out for the world to see, so I wanted to check up on him.” And see if I can figure out why I’m feeling off about that night.

“But I have such a lovely arse,” the man protested. “Fenris tells me all the time.”

“I do not,” the elf muttered.

“But you do think that, don’t you?” Hawke nudged him in the ribs.

“I… yes,” he sighed. “Also, hush.”

“Champion,” the Grand Cleric waved one slender hand at Hawke, motioning for him to join her at the top of the stairs. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” he sketched her a bow. “Vael,” Hawke nodded at Sebastian, who tilted his own chin in return. “How may I help?”

“The situation here has deteriorated much faster than I anticipated. I admit, I thought that after the incident with the Qunari, the people would not wish for more violence. As it stands, the Divine has now taken an interest in our city, and does not want to see the Free Marches become another Imperium. To that end, she has sent an agent to Kirkwall to assess the situation. Meet with her, please. Tell her that drastic measures won’t be required.”

“An Exalted March?” Hawke shook his head. “Against Kirkwall?”

“Surely the Divine wouldn’t attack the entire city,” Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his brow furrowing into deep creases. “She cannot turn the might of the entire Chantry against innocents due to proximity.”

“Were no innocents harmed in the Exalted Marches of old?" Elthina asked. "She will do her best, but she must act first to protect the faith.”

 _The Chantry doesn’t care about people_ , Liviana thought bitterly to herself. _The nobles would be able to get out of the city beforehand, and the mages that they would deign to protect, but the poor, the elves- they would all suffer. It wouldn’t be a march against mages. That would just be the excuse so they rest of the world will accept it._

“We’ll go straightaway,” she heard Hawke reply. “This cannot wait.”

“Agreed,” Sebastian nodded. “We cannot allow this ridiculous mage rebellion to turn into holy war.”

“Ridiculous?” Liviana’s head jerked up sharply. 

The Grand Cleric cut in before the gladiator could continue, or Sebastian could defend himself from the simmering fury in her eyes. “The agent, Sister Nightingale, will be waiting in the Viscount’s throne room tonight. She wishes to remain unseen.”

_Ridiculous mage rebellion? How can he think that, after everything he’s seen over the years? ...How can he not think that? He’s never tried to see it from the side of the mages, he’s never known the chains of slavery. Only a vow keeps him locked up in the Chantry, one that he has talked of breaking in order to take back his city. He does not fear the lash upon his back, or the cruel hands of a captor. The threat of Tranquility, or of mind control, has never kept him up at night and cowed at the feet of the guards._

“I do not understand why the Grand Cleric will not make a public address against the mages,” Sebastian muttered to himself as they walked. “She says if they will not listen to Andraste, then they will not listen to her, but isn’t that why we serve? To give voice to the will of the Maker and his Bride?”

Biting her lip, Liviana debated on her answer, as Hawke did not seem interested in replying at all. It was a tired, worn out argument that they were all sick of hearing. And yet, their was still no resolution in sight. “Against the mages?” She finally asked. “You don’t think their actions are warranted, even a little?” 

“You would defend them?” Grinding to a halt, Fenris whirled on her, wide-eyed and almost… horrified? Disgusted? “I expected such from Hawke-”

“Hey!”

“But you? After everything you’ve seen, after everything they’ve done?” He demanded.

“I won’t condemn them all for the crimes of the few,” Liviana muttered. “There are good people among them. Hawke. My brother.”

“You heard the Grand Cleric. The last time mages rebelled, they took control of Tevinter,” Sebastian sighed, his tone reminiscent of an adult, explaining a simple fact to a small child, and entirely unwelcome by her. “Not to mention that you’ve known your brother for all of an hour, Liviana. You don’t know who he truly is.”

“Or what he’s capable of,” Fenris added darkly.

“Hey now, that’s enough,” Hawke cut in before Liviana could launch a scathing retort, noting the way her eyes glinted in the sharp moonlight, how her fists were tightly clenched by her side. 

“Besides,” Sebastian continued, heedless of the warning, “If he is truly a servant of the Maker, he must know that magic must serve man. The templars exist for a reason, and their purpose is divine. To rebel against them is blasphemy.”

“Servitude, not slavery,” she hissed, brushing off the hand that Hawke cautiously laid upon her shoulder. “What I’ve seen of the abuses that occur at the templars’ hands is no better than the atrocities I’ve witnessed in the Imperium.”

“You can’t truly think-”

“Do not presume to tell me of what I can and cannot think, Vael,” whirling on the prince, who appeared flabbergasted by her sudden venom, she took a solid step towards the man. “I happen to have a perfectly functioning brain of my own.”

“I- I did not mean-”

Falling back, she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anyways.” Her braid whipped around her as she turned away and set off towards the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. The burn in her muscles was a welcome distraction from the pressure in her chest that threatened to implode upon her heart. Had he always thought that? She knew of Fenris’ beliefs, and she had agreed with them, up until… No. Sebastian had always sided with the Chantry. That much had been clear from the moment she met him. Her fondness for the man and the temporary sense of acceptance and warmth had blinded her. Or had she been the one to change? 

Seeing firsthand the terror of the mages had taken her to make the pivotal step of actively helping the mages to escape. But now? Knowing Max was in there, one of the dreaded mages she had once- and still, to an extent- feared so greatly? “He’s not one of them,” she whispered to herself, one hand gripping a sword hilt so tightly, she could feel the imprint of the metal through her gauntlet. “Max isn’t like that.”

“He’s not,” Hawke stepped next to her, his voice low and pitched so the others could still hear him. “And neither is Bethany. Nor most of the others in that place. It’s Meredith. Always has been.”

With a shaky inhalation, Liviana tentatively nodded. _It’s not Max. Max is my brother. He swore to me that he would never even consider blood magic an option. He would not lie to me. He wouldn’t._

“Liviana, I-”

She brushed past Sebastian without a second thought and pushed the door to the keep open. The halls were silent, the absence of the normal bustle of the crowds leaving an eerie emptiness that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. Only a pair of solitary guards stood watch inside, neither surprised to see the Champion of Kirkwall skulking about at this hour.

“This way,” Hawke headed for a pair of tall double doors at the back of chamber, and stood patiently to the side while Liviana deftly picked the lock. “You’re getting better at that.” She just shrugged.

“Wait,” muffled boots skittering over the worn rug that lined the hall, Liviana held out a hand to stop the others. “I hear footsteps. More than one person.”

“You don’t think it’s an ambush?” Hawke peeked over her head to scan the throne room. The only light filtered in through the glass set in the skylights above, the pale moonlight casting a washed out glow across the empty chamber. Blood still stained the stairs that led to the throne, rusted and faded, a testament to the violence this place had seen just three years ago. Three years that felt like an age.

“Mages,” Fenris growled, hefting his greatsword over his shoulder.

“So even the Divine fears us now.” A cowled woman in robes, flanked by two others, sauntered down the stairs, wearing a smile that was as friendly as a viper’s. “She should. Kill the spies!”

This was not going to help their case, not in the slightest. Whipping her swords out, Liviana lunged at the nearest mage, snarling as a demon rose up just behind her left flank, flinging bits of molten fire as it bared its claws at her. Her body tucked under as she rolled out of the way, her eyes scanning the room. No sign of the agent. _No… Don’t tell me they got to her first._ If that happened, Maker. They were all doomed.

Silverite sliced cleanly through the heart of the mage in front of her, the body dropping like a sack of potatoes to the floor. Glancing up, her own heart stuttered to a halt. “Sebastian!” One of her knives was in her hand before he could react to her scream, and flew from her arm, straight and true. Down went the rage demon, mere steps from Sebastian’s unguarded back. Turning, he paled a bit when he realized how close it had been.

“Two more!” Hawke’s voice bellowed from the opposite end of the room, the woman from earlier crumpled at his feet. Whirling to face the entrance, Liviana spotted the figures of two men standing in the doorway and palmed a dagger for each of them.

And then blinked, as both fell to the ground, dead. 

“The Resolutionists,” a light, Orlesian voice called out, a voice that belonged to a tall, lithe redhead with twin daggers strapped to her back. “I should have known they were behind this.”

“Max mentioned them.” Crouching down, Liviana wiped the blood remaining on her blades on a spare bit of robe and retrieved her dagger from earlier, grimacing at the ichor that coated it. “They are an offshoot of the Libertarians, who want to be free of Chantry oversight. And are willing to kill to get it.”

“Exactly so,” the woman nodded. “I am Sister Nightingale, or you may call me Leliana, if you prefer.”

“I know you,” Hawke stared at her with shining eyes. “From the Chantry in Lothering. You came shortly before we left. I heard you were among those who accompanied the Hero of Ferelden to slay the archdemon.”

“Queen Elissa, yes,” Leliana smiled. “She is one of my dearest friends. And you must be Garrett Hawke, son of Malcolm and Leandra. I remember your family. And dear, sweet Bethany. Tell me, is she here as well?”

“She was taken to the Gallows awhile back,” he replied quietly. “Carver became a templar.”

“I see.” Glancing away from his piercing gaze, Leliana studied the bodies that scattered the room. “The Divine has long suspected the rebellion here was spurred by an outside group. These mages mistook you for me, and in doing so, proved that she is right.”

“You set this up?” Sebastian frowned.

“I let word slip that an agent of the Divine was coming to investigate. It is how they reacted that condemns them.”

Hawke stepped forward, his hands held out, as close to begging as Liviana had ever seen him. “Please,” his voice broke, “Please don’t do anything dire. We still have a chance for peace.”

“Divine Justinia believes that this is the worst threat to Thedas since the Qunari invaded,” Leliana noted.

“A handful of apostates?” Sebastian scoffed. “How can that possibly be?”

“The whole world is watching Kirkwall,” the Nightingale responded firmly. “If it falls to magic, none of us are safe.”

“It won’t come to that,” Livana shook her head. “It can’t.”

“It’s almost there,” Fenris muttered behind her.

Leliana blew out a soft sigh, her expression not without sympathy. “Tell Elthina there is refuge for her at the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. She will not be safe here.” With a final glance at the mage corpses and the remains of the demons, she slipped back into the shadows, and was gone.

“Do you think they’ll…” Liviana’s eyes sought Hawke’s, and she knew they reflected her own. Trepidation, terror. Her breath came fast and shallow, her pulse fluttering in her chest. “They can’t, right? All the innocents in the Circle, all the people in the city. Would they?”

Features schooled into a mask of stone, Hawke turned back towards the door. “We should get back to the Grand Cleric and deliver that message.”

She had read a bit of the Exalted Marches these last few years in history books that Varric had lent her, part of an education that she had never received while a slave. Those bloody holy wars were meant to stamp out any and all opposition to the Chantry. Vicious. Unyielding. The elves had lost their Dales in one, ripped from the lands given to them as thanks for their part in fighting Tevinter alongside Andraste. Others had been fought against the Qunari in the Imperium, Seheron, and Rivain. And always, civilians had been caught in the crossfire. 

Innocents, killed in the streets, torn away from their families and homes and lands. Children, who were slaughtered, or forced to grow up on the streets, penniless and orphaned, easy prey for slavers and brothels. The same would happen here. And all the mages…

Max.

Silence reigned on the short walk back to the Chantry. Hanging behind the others as Hawke reported back to the Grand Cleric, Liviana listened halfheartedly as the woman refused to leave, and Sebastian insisted that he would stay as well. _At least it’s their choice to stay. And the nobles will have the choice, and means to leave if they so desire. But what of the poor? The elves? The mages? This will be no holy war, it is a massacre._

“Would you let yourself die?

“There is no greater devotion than to lay one’s life at the Maker’s feet. There is no better death than to take the blow meant for another,” Elthina replied gently, yet with conviction.

 _She means to be a martyr_ , Liviana realized with absolute disgust. _She doesn’t want to help make things better here. She wants to die, so that her name will be lifted up._

There was nothing left for her here in this building. She turned to leave. Sebastian’s footsteps caught up to her as she neared the doors.

“Maker preserve us, but this is such a mess,” he sighed, as if everything had not changed between them at all. “If only I were willing to hit her over the head and carry her away. This isn’t her battle. But she would place herself between the maleficarum and the templars and be torn apart for it. I must make her see reason.”

“Nothing will change her mind,” Liviana replied with a low tone. “She wants to die here.”

“How can you say that?” Grabbing her arm, Sebastian pulled her to face him, his tall figure dwarfing hers. “She’s doing the best she can, and-”

She yanked her arm from his grasp. “Anders was right,” Liviana hissed. “Elthina is nothing but a spineless coward who would see all of Kirkwall burn rather than be forced to step up and take responsibility for what is right.”

Electric blue eyes blazed in the dim candlelight. “She has faith, Liviana. Faith that there is a higher power directing all of this, guiding her actions. Besides, you’re one to talk about taking responsibility. You have your own birthright to claim, _Lady_ Trevelyan. Yet I do not see you do anything about that.”

“No.” Her scathing glare pinned him in place, and for a second, Sebastian wished he could take everything back. But an arrow unleashed cannot be withdrawn. “But neither do I sit idly by while innocents suffer.”

Her boots thudding against stone echoed into the night as she clattered down the stairs, not a soul daring to put themselves in her way of her warpath. Emotions, far too many, more than she was equipped to deal with, crashed down around her; terror, fury, despair all were interwoven in a tapestry of denial. What was she supposed to do now? If an army was to come, she would stand and defend for as long as she could, but what could one woman do against thousands? 

_Maybe I can get Max out. Anders might know of a way. There were escape routes and he knew all of them. There must be one or two that are still intact._

But could she really just grab her brother and flee? Leave the rest to their fate? Her leathers scraped against the rough wall that marked the edge of Lowtown as she leaned against it, seeking it’s solid support. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the musty night air of the slums, the breeze tainted with decay and urine and fish.

Yes. Yes, she could. Kirkwall, and Hawke’s influence, had made her soft. This was not who she was, not what she had been made to be. What did it matter for the rest of the mages? Given half a chance, most of them would turn to blood magic to save themselves. She had borne witness to that, time and time again.

_No no no, that’s not right! It’s their only method of defense, we’ve been through this! Over and fucking over. You can’t keep vacillating like this, Cat. You have to pick a side, and stand firm with it._

_Cal, I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. I’m not meant for this._

_You are the strongest person I know. Physically, and mentally. Varric told you that, don’t you remember? It’s true. You would not have gotten this far if you were weak. You’ve helped. You’ve made a difference. It’s time to take responsibility. What did you tell Sebastian? That you do not sit idly by while innocents suffer? And now you think of running?_

_Dammit, Calliope. I wish you were here. You’d know what to do._

_You already know what to do. You don’t need me. You never have._

“Yes, I do,” Liviana whispered. Reaching up, her fingers found the smooth pendant around her neck, one fingernail tracing the lines of the halla engraved upon it. A gift, from a blood mage. A blood mage that she somehow now called friend.

Maker, when did life get this complicated?


	24. A New Ship

The next few weeks brought no immediate retaliation from the Divine in Orlais, much to everyone’s relief. But the damage had been done. A miasma of sorts, laden with heavy foreboding, swirled around the city, and it seemed as if people spoke in hushed tones more often than not. Brawls broke out in every street, between guard and templar, commoner and noble. Everyone was on edge, waiting for the scales to tip.

Liviana, for her part, tried to stay busy. Hawke disappeared up into the Dalish encampment on Sundermount with Merrill and Varric and Isabela one day, and returned angrier and more heartsick than ever, his armor splattered with blood. But from whom, he would not say. No one would. Merrill refused to speak to anyone, and secluded herself in the alienage. Even Varric and Isabela were quiet, both of them shaking their heads and pouring themselves another drink instead. 

Anders was also nowhere to be found. He was rarely in his clinic anymore, and the few glimpses she caught of him were of a man that was frayed to the point of breaking. Dark circles lined his eyes, and a thick coat of stubble graced his hollowed cheeks and jaw. His feather mantle was tattered beyond almost all recognition, and his robes, stained and torn. What he was up to, no one could say, not even Hawke.

As Aveline stayed forever busy in her capacity as guard-captain, the only ones who were around were Varric and Isabela. Hawke and Fenris would frequent the Hanged Man in the evenings most nights, but the lovers began to take more time for themselves, now that their relationship was blossoming. Sebastian also avoided the tavern as if it had the plague. Not that she minded in the least bit. What had she been thinking anyways? Even thinking of things like love, and a future. With a noble, of all things. A fucking prince. No, a seedy, shadowed tavern surrounded by piss poor ale and drunkards, snoring across the table was where she belonged.

Dragging the soft feather of her quill across one cheek, Liviana groaned, and threw the blank parchment down upon the table, cursing as the paper immediately began to soak up a bit wine that had spilled. Across from her, Varric glanced up from his notebook.

“Problems, Firefly?”

“Just don’t know what to write to Max about,” she muttered, taking a deep swig of her whiskey. “I can’t think of anything that’s not inane, like the weather. And I don’t want to put anything in that would cause Cullen or Max to get in trouble. I mean, the events of my life for the past five years can be summarized in one sentence. I killed a lot of people. And the events of my life before that can also be told with the same sentence.”

“You’ve done a lot more than that,” Varric replied, setting aside his own pen. “Maybe a game, to get your mind off of things?”

“Maybe,” she sighed, just as Isabela all but sprinted into the tavern. Glancing at both of them, the pirate jerked her chin up towards Varric’s room and headed up there. “Well, she’s being shifty.” Leaving the now ruined parchment behind, the quill tucked securely into her braid, Liviana quickly followed Isabela and Varric, and closed the door behind her. 

“I need help,” Isabela blurted out as soon as she was sure they were safe. “Castillon is back in town. I need to take him down before he gets to me first.”

“Castillon?” Liviana crossed her arms and leaned against a wall.

“My old boss,” Isabela replied. “Long story short, he hired me to deliver a shipment, which turned out to be slaves. I freed the slaves, he got pissy and made me retrieve a relic, which I did, then gave the relic to Hawke to give to the Arishok like an idiot.”

“I remember that bit. So I’m guessing Castillon wants to take his lost profit out of you in other ways?”

“Probably. I’d prefer to not find out, to be honest,” she sighed. “But he’s here, so my only chance is to confront him first. Will you help me?”

“I’m in, Rivaini,” Varric answered immediately. Liviana nodded.

“Whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” Isabela breathed, relief written on her face. “Castillon has been hard to track down, but his right hand man, Velasco, has been holed up in at the Blooming Rose ever since he came to town.”

“Holed up,” Varric snickered. “Excellent choice of words.”

Grinning, Liviana grabbed a chair and spun it around, plopping her down backwards in it and rested her chin on the back. “So what do we do? Beat it out of him? I know a few methods that will make anyone talk. Or some that will make him squeal like a nug in heat.”

“That’s disturbing, Firefly.”

“But useful. For later,” Isabela added. “It would take too much time and effort to make him talk. And I don’t want him to get spooked and tell Castillon, either.”

“We could get one of the girls that works there to see if they can get it out of him,” Liviana suggested. “Or get him roaring drunk. Hang him by his toes over the wall? Bake him a poison cake and withhold the antidote until he tells us?”

“Too much work.”

“Hmm,” drumming his fingers of one hand on the table, Varric rested his cheek in the other. “What if we… gave you to Velasco?”

“Like bait,” Liviana nodded her approval. 

“Ooh, that could work. And then, I leave a trail and you guys follow me? We’d have to make it convincing,” she mused.

“Don’t worry about that.” Liviana’s grin turned feral. “I’ve got that part under control.”

Turning to Varric, Isabela asked, “Is it odd that I am equal parts turned on, terrified, and confused right now?”

“Me, too,” he chuckled. “Well, no time like the present. Shall we, ladies?”

Liviana never really cared for brothels. The spicy perfumes and heady, sweet scent of fine liquors splashed over polished mahogany and soaked embroidered silks that permeated the air reminded her too much of those nights in Tevinter, of drunken orgies and too many unknown hands and cocks and breasts. The Blooming Rose was not nearly as upscale as some of the manses she had frequented, but the memories still lurked. 

Keeping her head down, Liviana shouldered her way through the crowd, breathing as shallow as she could manage. “Good girl,” she heard a velvet, cultured voice purr from off to the side. She could just make out the figure of a scantily clad woman perched atop a man’s thigh from the corner of her eye, her lush red lips eagerly accepting the morsels he deigned to feed her. 

_“That’s my good girl, sweet Liviana,” Magister Brecius patted her on her head, the other hand fondling the leash of silk that was securely fastened around her throat. “Really, Varinius. You need to let me borrow her more often. My wife is so fond of her, as am I. She’s a true jewel of the Imperium. It’s not everyday you find such a catch. Physical strength,” his manicured hands as soft as a babe’s trailed over her toned thighs, draped neatly over his own, “talented hands, and such a wicked tongue. And so well trained. I’m sure I have you thank for that.”_

_Varinius’ lips curled up in a perfect smile. “I admit, she gave me a bit of trouble at the beginning. But the investment was worth it.”_

_“I agree,” Brecius held up a grape, plump and juicy, the peak of that year’s crops. “Would you like this treat, my dear?”_

_“If it pleases you, my lord,” Liviana bowed her head, a pretty blush spreading across her cheeks._

_“Hmm.” His finger snapped together, and the grape rolled to the floor. “It seems I’ve dropped it. Fetch it for me.”_

_Without hesitation, Liviana slid to the floor, the sheer silk that had been artfully draped around her to accentuate, never to conceal, flowing like water over her limbs. Kneeing, her breath faltered as a slippered heel pressed against the back of her head, the collar she wore tightening around her neck._

_“Eat it off the ground, like the dog you are.”_

_Bits of dust and sand stuck to the skin of the fruit, making her gorge rise at the prospect. But she did not dare show even the slightest bit of reticence. Leaning over, she plucked the grape off the ground using only her teeth, and chewed and swallowed._

_“Good girl,” he sighed. One of his hands snaked into his robes, and emerged seconds later, holding a flaccid cock. He didn’t have to voice his desires for her to know exactly what he wished for her to do._

_There was only one thing she could do. Block out everything and anything. The sounds of the party in the background, the laughter and lewd sounds of others, the unhurried conversation that Brecius and the dominus still carried on, the roar of her blood in her ears, the nausea that stuck in her throat, her own humanity._

_Straightening her spine, she reached out and took his member in her own hand. “Thank you, my lord.”_

“Liviana!” A pair of fingers snapped in front of her eyes. Blinking, she looked around. 

_Blooming Rose. Kirkwall. Not Vyrantium._

“Are you alright?” Isabela peered into her face, frowning to herself as she poked her friend’s cheek. 

“I’m fine,” she pushed away the probing hands. “Just remembered something, that’s all. Where is Velasco?”

Eyes still narrowed suspiciously at her, Isabela led her down the hall and paused in front of a door with a number 5 engraved into the wood. Varric elected to wait for her out by the stairs. “Here. You sure you’re alright to do this?”

“Yes,” Liviana responded, a bit more firm this time. “Here.” Grabbing ahold of the pirate’s wrists, she crossed them behind her and pinned the limbs to the small of her back with one hand, the other reaching for a dagger that she pressed into her side. “Remember. Leave me a trail, and I’ll get you back as soon as he’s led you to Castillon.” At Isabela’s nod, Liviana kicked the door in a semblance of a knock, hooking one toe around the lever and shoved it open.

“Eh?” A tall man, dark and swarthy, glanced up as the woman that he had pinned against the wall wiggled her way free. Liviana caught a glimpse of her eyes as she fled- wide, and terrified. Briefly, she wondered if Isabela would object if she killed the man after this. “Come back- Damn, skittish bitch,” he growled in a thick Antivan accent. “You better have a good reason for interrupting me.”

Making sure he saw the dagger as she released Isabela, Liviana shoved the woman forward, grinning as she stumbled. “A present for Castillon. I heard he’s been looking for this one. Careful, she bites.”

“Why you-” Isabela whirled on her. “You bitch! You said we were going to kill him! Lying, conniving, worthless, backstabbing-” Lunging at her, the pirate hurtled into empty space as Liviana neatly sidestepped her, and grunted as a knee forced her to the ground.

“Aww, don’t be like that sweetheart,” Liviana cooed, tracing her cheek with one gloved hand. “We had some fun while it lasted, didn’t we? But all good things come to an end.”

Velasco motioned to two of his men that had been hanging back in the room to come forward, both of them securely wrapping their hands around Isabela’s arms to haul her away. “A present, you say?” the Antivan stroked his chin. “And what do you wish in return?”

“I just never want to see her pretty, stupid face again,” Liviana shrugged. “But if he feels so inclined, I wouldn’t say no to a bit of gold.”

Reaching into his pocket, Velasco counted out a few sovereigns and tossed them over to her. “I trust this will do? It is more than she is worth, that is for sure.”

Liviana hefted the money in one hand, making a show of examining the metal, and nodded. “I think that will do nicely. Farewell, my pretty.”

“I’ll get back at you for this,” Isabela snarled, still struggling against her captors. “One day, I’ll be back, and you’ll be sorry.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Wiggling her fingers at the pirate, Liviana sauntered out of the room. Maker, she felt sick. Even saying those things, regardless of whether or not it was a planned farce, left a sour taste upon her tongue. Once, she would not have flinched at all. Her friends really had made her soft.

Hurrying back to the stairs, she nodded at Varric. “He has her. Let’s wait outside.”

“So what was that back there? Don’t look at me like that. When you zoned out for a spell,” Varric settled himself atop a crate, hidden in the shadows. 

“Memories,” she muttered. “That’s all.”

“Uh huh.”

“Brothels aren’t the most pleasant places for me. Not after what I experienced.”

It was enough for him to put together the pieces. Wincing softly, he nodded. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wasn’t your fault.” One shoulder lifted in a casual shrug that was anything but. Most of the time, she could block out the years of her past. It was how she functioned for the entirety of her life anyways. But every once in awhile, something would set her off.

A particular cadence of a scream. The crack of a whip. The whisper of silk gliding over velvet. The grinding of a leather boot against sand. A certain voice. Once, or twice, she heard what she could have sworn was the Doctore. He had been a large man, stolen from Wycome when he was young, and a trace of the accent of his homeland had lingered over the years. An accent that was common enough in a port city of the Free Marches. 

These things would shock her soul, like a jolt of electricity straight to the heart, and she would freeze, and blank out. By some small mercy, it had not happened in battle yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time. One day, she would slip and pay for it with her life.

_As long as I go down fighting, I don’t care._

“Still. If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

Liviana smiled. Maybe her friends had made her soft. But perhaps… Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing, if it meant having friends like this. 

“Thanks, dwarf. Hey, there she is. Let’s go.”

***

“Took you long enough to catch up,” Isabela glared behind her. “Why are you whistling? You never whistle. Ugh, you killed him, didn’t you?”

Shrugging, Liviana sauntered out onto the dock, her boots ringing out hollowly against the wood. “Perhaps.”

“So where’d you stash the body?” Varric snickered. 

“I left him in the street, like the trash he was. And I conveniently left those slaving manifests pinned to his chest. With his dagger. See, I’m a helper,” she grinned. 

“I suppose it doesn’t matter that Castillon is dead, anyhow,” Isabela sighed. 

“And Velasco.” Today was a good day. “So, this it?” Glancing up, Liviana took in the sight of the splendid three mast ship that towered above them, the white square sails tightly lashed to the cross spars. 

“Isn’t she a beauty? And all mine now,” Isabela gleefully rubbed her hands together. “I’ll need some time to round up a crew, but once I do, want to take her out?”

“Not likely,” Varric shook his head. “I prefer solid ground beneath my feet.”

“I’ll go,” Liviana offered. “I liked being out at sea. Although, if we could never go back to Estwatch, I would like that.”

“Fine. Can we go to Llomerynn?”

“I like Llomerynn,” she shrugged. “The markets are fascinating. You’d probably like them too, Varric.”

“All that open sea though,” he shuddered. “I’ll consider it. Just for my two favorites.”

Isabela and Liviana glanced at each other. “Liar,” they chimed in unison.

Laughing as the dwarf protested, honeyed words of love and adoration pouring from his lips, Liviana leaned against a post and stared up at the ship. Maybe this is what she should do. Get out of Kirkwall for a bit, away from this mess. Let the ocean air clear her mind.

But, if disaster befell Kirkwall while she was gone, and something happened to Max, or Hawke, or any of other friends, something that she could have prevented… would she ever forgive herself?

 _Life was so much easier when I had no will of my own, and no conscience to bother me. To be responsible for every decision I make_ , she sighed. _But I would not have it any other way._

No, she could not leave Kirkwall. Not yet. When she was assured of her friends and Max’s safety, she would go.

But when would that be?

Saying goodnight to her friends, Liviana began the long trek back up to Hightown, wondering for the hundredth time whether or not she should just get an apartment in Lowtown, near the docks. It was where she spent most of her time anyways. But the lure of free rent was too much to resist.

Rounding a corner, she paused as a shadow caught the corner of her eye. Someone was following her. Sliding a knife out of her holster, Liviana quickly stepped down a side alley, and ducked behind a doorframe. The footsteps followed. Counting the thuds of their boots against the pavement, she held her breath… And leaped out, her blade pressed to their neck.

“Sebastian?”

“Aye,” he smiled hesitantly down at her, his chin tilted up. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you, I swear.”

“Kaffas,” withdrawing her knife, she slipped it back against her thigh. “I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” Maker, but he was handsome with that silly grin on his face. Still, she hadn’t forgotten about what they had said to each other from the night they met the Nightingale.

Crossing her arms, she leaned against the wall. “What do you want, Vael?”

“I wanted to apologize,” he replied, his voice low. His eyes, earnest and so impossibly blue, held her captive. “I should not have said the things I did that night. Something about you brings out my temper, and I let it get the best of me. It will not happen again, I promise you.”

“Yes it will,” she muttered. “You’re passionate, and whenever your blood gets riled, so does your temper. It’s part of who you are.”

“Ah,” a blush stained his cheeks, one hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “I know. It’s gotten better since I joined the Chantry, but I am working on it. Liviana,” he took her hands into his own and pressed them to his cheek. “I- I love you. I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”

“You- what?” All those ridiculous romance books that she had read sheerly for practice, obviously, had moments like this. Where time stood still as the protagonist’s true love confessed their feelings, their hearts beating wildly, their limbs trembling with the intensity of their emotions. She just hadn’t expected to feel so… scared. Trapped. Hesitant. 

“I love you,” he drew her closer. “So much. I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please? Else I don’t know how I’ll manage.”

Liviana allowed herself to be pulled into him and rested her head against his chest, the cold of his armor shocking her system. “I expect you’d manage just fine.”

“Liv-”

“But I forgive you.” Her mind screamed in defiance. _This isn’t love! How can someone like him love someone like you? How could you? A sheltered man, utterly blind to the real world and its injustices around him?_

But what did she know of things like love?

Calloused fingers brushed her chin, tilting her head up. The burning lyrium blue of his eyes enveloped her until her entire world was tinted with the azure brightness, all her misgivings muffling as the heartbeats passed. A tender smile curled at his lips, that roguish air of his dissolving into something infinitely more softer. “Thank you,” he breathed just as he claimed her mouth for his own. 

Frozen, it was all she could do to just stand there, letting him kiss her, his lips warm against her skin. It was a sharp counterpoint to the deep ache that blossomed in her gut, rising through her chest until she felt as if her ribs might burst. Then as quickly as the sensation came, it fled, leaving her cold and still wanting. What was he doing? And her, just letting him hold her like this? After everything he said to her before? After everything he was willing to overlook?

“Do you- I…” pulling back, Sebastian shook his head. The unspoken question lay on his tongue. 

“Do I what?”

“Nothing,” he nuzzled her cheek. “It’ll keep, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady,” she reminded him with a small huff of her own. 

“But you are,” his forehead pressed against hers, his eyes fluttering shut. “My lady. Lady Trevelyan.”

The pit that had begun in her stomach spread. _Why will he not let this go? I’m not Evelyn anymore. I don’t think I ever will be again._ But all she did was shake her head. What did he want from her? “It’s late,” she murmured. 

“I’ll walk you home then.” Holding out his hand, his smile widened further as she took it, seemingly unbothered by her tentative hesitance. 

He loved her. Did she love him? What did love even feel like? Not for the first time, she desperately wished she had her mother. A mother who might have told her how to deal with things like this, warned her against men with handsome eyes and smooth voices and tempestuous emotions. But all she had was a Doctore, and a whip, and the fear of displeasing one who held more power than she. Biting back a frown, Liviana kept silent the rest of the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going out of town next week, so here's your update for Sunday a day early. :) I might post Tuesday's update later today, or just 2 chapters next Thurs.
> 
> Side note, my toddler says roller coasters as "cooler rooster" and its fucking adorable.


	25. To New Friends

The smell of fresh beeswax and ale wafted up to surround her. Letting the door slam close behind us, Liviana tugged off her gloves and nodded at Tavish, who grinned back at her.

“Thanks for the present, girlie,” he said as she slid into a seat at the bar.

“Why, Tavish, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she blinked her long, sooty lashes up at him in her most beguiling manner. The wiry barkeep just barked a sharp laugh.

“Right. It’s normal to have random crates of Tevinter’s finest red just show up at my door,” he snorted.

“It’s a Carastes red, hardly the finest,” she sniffed. “Still a damn sight better than anything else this city has to offer though.”

“I feel like I should be offended, but whatever,” he waved her off. Reaching behind the counter, he plunked down a full bottle and slid two glasses across. “On the house.”

“You’re my favorite,” she called out, taking the wine and crossing the room, weaving through the other small pockets of people huddled together. The cork came free with a soft pop, and she sighed in happiness at the rich scent of the dark liquid within. Lowering her face into the mouth of the glass, she breathed in deep. 

“Having a moment, are we?” An amused voice asked her.

“Yes. And you’re ruining it.” Ignoring his low chuckle, Liviana poured two generous servings and slid one across the table, surveying the chessboard he had set up between them. “Alright. I’m ready to get my ass handed to me. As per our usual.”

Cullen just smiled at her. “You’ve been doing better, you know.”

“You’re a terrible liar, did you know that?” Still, she hid her pleased smirk at the compliment, ducking her head in hopes he wouldn’t see the faint blush that stained her cheek. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take a compliment; men paid her those all the time, usually in the form of lewd and vulgar suggestions. But Cullen was different. When he praised her, she knew that he meant it with all sincerity. He wasn’t a man to spout random platitudes just because it was what the other wanted to hear. The rareness of his compliments made them all the more valued to her.

It was an odd friendship they had struck up over the months. They met like clockwork, every fortnight since the first night, here in this little out of the way tavern, whiling away the hours of the evening with drink and cards or chess, and chatting about everything and nothing all at once. They discussed the jousts in Orlais, which knights they favored and why. He listened with wide eyes as she told him of the debauchery of the pirate islands in the Amaranthine Ocean, and how lovely Rialto looked at night from the sea. She learned that he hated ships and got seasick when he traveled to Kirkwall for the first time, and that he liked plain butter cookies and detested the frilly desserts of Orlais. He discovered that she could stand on her head for a solid five minutes straight, while drunk, and that her favorite color was a purple so dark, it was almost black. But she did not fool herself; his loyalty lied first and foremost with the Templar Order, and thereby with the Chantry. He was even more devoted than Sebastian was, if such a thing were possible. 

Sebastian. Despite his apology, and his proclamation of love, she still could not shake the feeling that something was off between the prince and her. As if he were biding his time for something. It made her nervous and set her on edge in a way that she had felt in a long time. She did not like it.

So she avoided being alone with him, afraid of what she might do or say. In fact, she avoided being alone with anyone these days, only seeking her friends when they were in groups. Except for Cullen. She was at ease with him in a way that she was not with anyone else. Although she wasn’t sure what that said about her relationships. Fenris and Isabela reminded her of her past. Anders asked for aid with his struggle against the Chantry. Varric and Sebastian sought to make her more than she was. Aveline just wanted her to stop leaving bodies everywhere, which was, in retrospect, a reasonable request and she probably should listen to the guard-captain. And just being associated with Hawke brought with it a certain expectation on how to appear. 

When she was here, in this nondescript tavern, all she was to Cullen was another soldier. Not Liviana, the escaped slave. Not Liviana, who was once Evelyn and still yet might be, torn between her past and future. Just Liviana. He only cared for her company as she was on that day. With him, she lived solely in the present, at least for a few hours. And that was more precious to her than she had ever expected. 

But as the months went by, she noticed a certain weariness that hung about him, a reluctance to leave the sanctuary of the tavern. He had always left at the same time every visit, eager to get back to his duties and refreshed for the coming weeks. But lately? He lingered. Loitered. And Cullen never loitered. It was almost as if he did not want to return.

“How do you like the wine?” Leaning back, she balanced her chair on the back two legs as she watched him.

“Hmm? It’s nice,” he murmured. His eyes flitted over the chessboard, and Liviana could almost see the wheels in his brain turning, his mind far away from this place.

“Do you think I should move that pawn next, or that knight?”

“Yes.”

Drumming her fingers on the table, Liviana pursed her lips. “I taught a mouse to dance. His name is Bonneveaux. We’re getting married next week.”

“Alright.”

Laughing, her chair teetered forward, the front legs slamming into the floor. “Cullen. What’s wrong? You’ve been distracted for ages now.”

Whiskey eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, Liviana was struck by how thin he was. Haggard, and exhausted, even more than he usually was. One hand scratched at the back of his scalp, sliding until it rested on the back of his nape, pulling at the taut muscles in his neck. “May I ask you something?” he said after a few moments.

“Sure,” she shrugged, twirling a pawn between her fingers.

“That night you rescued me… I asked you what your thoughts on the Order was, and you said you understood why the templars were necessary,” he spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen and placed. “Yet, you also said that you thought we were not doing it the correct way. That the mages were, for all intent and purposes, slaves.”

“I did say that,” she nodded. “I still stand by it.”

“Even after everything you’ve seen?”

“Especially after everything I’ve seen,” she sighed. “What are you asking me, Cullen?”

The chessboard now forgotten, Cullen rested his elbows on the tables, his fingers steepled together and pressed against his forehead. “I was stationed in Kinloch, during the Blight. Blood mages there, they took over the tower. Slaughtered everyone, mage and templar alike. They-” his voice cracked, “-they tortured me and my brethren.”

“Uldred,” she whispered. “Anders mentioned him once.”

“Yes,” he gulped. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at the beads of sweat that had appeared on his forehead. “Queen, or I suppose, Warden Cousland as she was back then rescued me. Or what was left of me. I was sent away, to recover, but I still wanted to serve. I believed in the oath I took, the oath to protect and to serve. It is all I’ve ever wanted to do, ever since I was a lad. I would watch the templars in our village, and how they helped, and I wanted to do the same. But now… I do not believe I am doing either.” His eyes stared into the depths of his wine, as if he were searching for the answers within. “I- I feel like a jailer. The mages are terrified of us. Of _me_. The civilian populace used to revere us, but now? Now they barely tolerate us and an increasing number are outright hostile. And Meredith… the Knight-Commander grows more harsh and unyielding by the day. What am I supposed to do? I have my vows, my faith to the Maker. And she’s my superior, I can’t- I can’t…” Clearing his throat, his haunted gaze rose to meet hers, begging, pleading.

For a few minutes, Liviana said nothing. How could she help him anyways? What care did she have for vows to the Chantry and those who swore them? But something in his amber eyes gave her pause. She refilled her glass.

“I was the perfect slave,” she began. “I did everything the dominus, my master, asked of me, and more. Whatever he asked, as soon as snapped his fingers. It got to the point where I knew what he wanted of me just from a single look. The blood that stains my hands…” She stared at the bare skin of her palms, remembering how many times they had been stained crimson red at his command. “It was my lot in life. I was a slave, and nothing would ever change. How could it? The system was against me. What would I even do if I had gained my freedom? They had forged me into a tool of destruction and that was- is all I know. So, in the end, I was also too afraid of confronting him.”

“What changed?” He asked after she fell silent again.

Fiddling with the pawn still in her hand, Liviana’s shoulders rose and sank in a deep sigh. “Calliope. My best friend, and a fellow slave. If it hadn’t been for her, I would have tortured that child to within an inch of her life, and not thought twice about it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cullen flinch. Would he despise her after hearing this? But instead of words of condemnation, all he asked was, “How did she convince you to stand up to him?”

Her eyes squeezed shut. Softly, her voice barely above a whisper, she recited, “Is this all that there is? For you, for me? When we die, what will you tell the Maker? Will Falon’Din guide my soul or leave me to wander as a shade? Maybe, just maybe there’s something redeemable left in us.” Calliope’s voice still lingered in her mind. Those icy lavender eyes, boring into hers, the flames from the torches dancing over her. Her best friend. Her better half. She sighed. “I had to try at least.”

“And now you’re here”, Cullen murmured. 

“Not without sacrifice,” she muttered, the old bitterness still seeping through her words. Would there ever come a time when she would be able to look back and just be grateful for what Calliope did, instead of angry?

“Of course,” he nodded. “But you still left that life behind. You broke the chains and somehow managed to accept mages as your friends. How?”

“Sheer stubbornness for the first part,”, she snorted. “I just kept putting one foot in front of the other until I was safe and free. I still feel the effects though. A sound, a voice can easily take me back there.” _Andraste’s tits, why am I telling him all this? I barely know this man. But his eyes, his eyes…_ She had felt the conflict she saw reflected in his face before. Knew what it was like to have your bleeding heart ripped apart and exposed before you, to be presented with two choices and neither one be certain. One might lead to death. And the other, to the destruction of your very soul. And you were not sure which was which. or which would be preferable. “As for the rest,” she continued softly, “I still struggle with it. But I have help. Varric. Isabela. Hawke more than anything. He is a singular man.”

A wry smirk broke through. Chuckling, Cullen tipped her glass up to his lips. “Thank the Maker for that.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Lifting her own wine, she clinked it against his, the sharp note ringing out into the silence of their little corner. 

“I appreciate your insight,” the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled a bit as he smiled, soft and gentle and utterly drained. “I know it cannot be easy for you to talk about your past.”

“It’s not easy for you either,” she observed.

“I’ve never told anyone about what happened to me that didn’t already know,” he confessed, ducking his chin down. “But for some reason I can’t explain,” his gaze flicked up, “I trust you.”

There was no hiding the smile on her face this time around. “Always happy to help a friend.”

“Y-you consider me a friend?”

Taking in his wide, stricken eyes, Liviana fumbled for an appropriate response. Had she offended him somehow? “Not if the idea is as abhorrent to you as it appears, judging by your face. Did you not want to be?”

“No!” Cullen shot up in his chair. A stray pawn was caught up in his impulsive reaction and clattered to floor. “No, I meant yes, I- Maker’s breath.” Sighing, he leaned over to fetch the piece of wood, idly running one thumb over the worn surface. “I don’t have many friends. Or any at all, if you could not tell from my exceptional social skills.” Liviana snorted, earning her a rueful grin. “I was always too focused on my training, then my duties. And then I found myself promoted to Knight-Captain, far earlier than the norm, and it distanced me even further from my peers.”

“Plus you’re a stick in the mud,” she added impishly.

“I am not,” he protested. “I cordial, and responsible, and proper, and you are just teasing me now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ser Stick,” she giggled. “Although I have noticed that you’ve been laughing more these last few visits.”

“Your influence, no doubt.”

“You have Hawke and his merry band of misfits to thank for that.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.” Ducking the carved tower she lobbed at his head, he continued, “Speaking of laughter, Enchanter Trevelyan seems happier of late. He actually smiled directly at me the other day. That has not happened before.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re pretty,” Liviana smirked.

“I- I am sure he does not,” Cullen flushed a deep red that spread to the edges of his hairline, much to her amusement. “...Does he?”

“Everyone thinks you’re pretty,” she replied with a wave. “He’d be the odd one out if he didn’t.”

“Oh,” Cullen frowned down at his wine. “Wait. Everyone? So does that mean you think I’m attractive?”

One dark eyebrow arched upwards. “Why, Knight-Captain. Surely you aren’t fishing for a compliment?”

“No! I just-” He broke off his sentence as Liviana dissolved into a fresh set of giggles. “Andraste preserve me.”

Pushing her knight into place, Liviana laughed. “You are a very handsome man, but I’m sure you know that already.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in that way he was wont to do when he was embarrassed, or unsure. “Somehow, it means more coming from you,” he muttered quietly.

Her breath froze in her chest. _No, not him too…_ “...Oh?”

“Not like that,” he hurriedly assured her, wincing as he saw the way her expression shuttered, how her muscles tensed. “You are quite beautiful as well, is what I meant. In that as an attractive person you would know the standards of beauty for others and could properly judge and Maker’s breath.” His head flopped forward, his forehead colliding with the table. “I am just going to stop talking now.” 

“Please don’t.” Some of the tension fled her body as soon as she realized he was not flirting with her. This was just Cullen being the shy, awkward man he was. Suddenly, his bumbling behavior was more endearing than anything else. “This is the most entertainment I’ve had since Hawke’s dog chased that nug through Hightown and ate its bonnet.”

“It- What?”

“Some Orlesian lady’s pet. It had a fancy jeweled collar and a velvet skirt and everything. She’s just lucky Millie went for the hat, and not the nug itself,” Liviana giggled.

“Of course they have nugs as pets,” he snorted. “Bloody Orlesians.” Settling back in his chair, Cullen regarded her for a moment. “I hope I did not offend you.”

“You didn’t,” she smiled. “For a moment I thought you were, you know…”

His nod was slow as he took the time to process his words. “I do find you attractive. But I find that I value your companionship more than anything. I would not want to… complicate things between us.”

“So we are agreed. And with that,” she sighed as she peered into the empty bottle, “I think we’re dry.”

“It’s late anyhow. Oh, and-” He slid a rook across the board, “-checkmate.”

“What?” Her feet slammed down upon the floor as she scowled at her pieces. “I hate you. One of these days, Rutherford, I swear.”

“You’d actually have to pay attention for once,” he teased. “You’re so easily distracted.”

“And whose fault is that,” she retorted, flinging yet another pawn at him, grumbling when the piece bounced harmlessly off his chest. “See you in two weeks then?”

“Two weeks,” he nodded. Slowly, each movement strained as if he were dragging his arm through molasses, Cullen packed up the chess set into the little carrying case. Once again, reluctant to leave and face the real world again.

“Cullen,” she called softly as he stood to leave. “Be careful.” Briefly, she toyed with the idea of telling him of the Nightingale’s visit and what it would mean for the city, but she was afraid. After all, he was still Knight-Captain, the second-in-command to the madwoman who held her brother’s life in her hands. 

Glancing back at her, he offered her a wan smile. “You too, Liviana.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd update one more. This is a good chapter to leave it on :)


	26. The Breaking Point

It started like it always had. A letter, sent by First Enchanter Orsino, begging Hawke to intercede on behalf of the mages. But it did not end like it always had before. This time, it ended in blood and fire. 

Every muscle in her body twitched, both hands resting on her hilts, fingers flexing, ready to leap into battle at the slightest blink of an eye. Her gaze flicked from Meredith to Orsino and back again. Their conversation was the same as she had heard a thousand times in this city.

_Blood mages everywhere. Must root them out. We protect you from yourselves!_

_There are no blood mages. You’re trying to find something that doesn’t exist!_

And on and on. Rotating her neck to loosen the tension, Liviana held back a stifled sigh, sharing a look of suffering with Varric, who just shrugged. 

“This is getting us nowhere,” Orsino echoed Liviana’s thoughts. Turning away from Meredith, the First Enchanter muttered, “Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this.”

“You will not bring Her Grace into this,” Meredith yanked him back by his arm and snarled. 

“The Grand Cleric cannot help you now,” a new voice called out from behind. A familiar voice. Whirling around, Liviana stared as Anders approached. How long had it been since she had seen the man? Weeks now. His face was haggard, bearing a thick layer of stubble, cheeks sunken and drawn. He looked like a madman. “I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals, while those who would lead us bow to their templar jailers! The Circle has failed us. The time has come to act. There can be no half measures.”

Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. She had never heard Anders’ voice sound like that, ominous and foreboding. Casting her gaze wildly around, she saw that everyone else had the same look of suspicion and confusion that she knew she herself wore. Fenris openly scowled, and Sebastian’s hands itched for his bow.

“Anders,” Hawke’s voice was low. “What have you done?”

Staring at the ground, his head drooping forward, Anders whispered, “There can be no turning back.”

And the world exploded.

Demons of rage, terror, pride- Liviana had dealt with her fair share of those, and more. Brigands, Tal-Vashoth, dragons, mages, templars- she knew how to fight these, enemies of flesh and blood and bone.

But what the hell was she supposed to do against an explosion?

The Chantry, high atop the hill, shook under the force of the blast, and _shattered_. Fire and debris rained down upon the entire city, ash and dust and bricks colliding into the walls and streets around them. Liviana just stared. She heard the shouts and screams of the others as if she were underwater, or at the end of a long tunnel, the sounds muffled and far, far away. Sebastian collapsed to the ground, Elthina’s name escaping his lips on a heart wrenching wail. 

Everything was in chaos, Meredith and Orsino and Sebastian all screaming at Anders while the man vehemently defended his actions, the rest of them looking out in horror. Liviana barely heard a thing that was said. Until-

“A quick death now, or a slow one later,” Anders spat. “I’d rather die fighting.”

Those words echoed in her head like the piercing notes of a battle horn.

_The one thing I fear the most._

_All I want is to die fighting, on my own two feet._

_Not chained. Not bound. Not led like a pig to the slaughter._

Still lost in the maelstrom of her own horror, Liviana steadily voiced her support for Hawke, promising to stand by him if he should defend the mages. Swords rang out against scabbards as they were pulled free, the templars that had accompanied Meredith lunging at them upon Meredith’s command. 

She ordered the Rite of Annulment.

_Max. No!_

Her muscles took over then, as her mind was otherwise occupied in a churning frenzy, her body guiding her as she fought. _Duck, roll, parry, thrust, twist._ More death on a night when so many others had already lost their life. And Max might be next. And Cullen, oh Maker, was he one of the- No. None of the broken bodies at her feet were the Knight-Captain. Still, it was too much.

Orsino left to hurry back to the Gallows after it was over, giving Hawke the final say over Anders’ fate. The mage sat on a nearby crate, every line in his body dragging. Defeated, even after his triumph. She remembered the feeling.

“He wants to die. I say kill him,” Varric sighed. “I’m tired of this.”

“The penalty for murder is clear. He should die,” Aveline proclaimed.

“He should live,” Merrill retorted. “Make him help fix this.”

Fenris took a step closer, snapping, “It can’t be fixed. He needs to die.”

“Why are we even arguing over this? He killed the Grand Cleric, one of the best women I ever knew!” Sebastian roared over the din of voices. “He is an abomination. If you won't kill him, I will.”

Isabela just shook her head when Hawke turned her way. The Champion sagged. “Liviana?” he asked wearily. 

The words to doom Anders died on her tongue as memories of another night crashed into her like a tidal wave. The same smell of burning buildings and flesh and the screams of people as they fled, the way the fires licked at the stars set high in the night sky, the heavy clanging and rush of armored troops running through the streets. How many of her fellow slaves did she lead to their death that night? All because she was too afraid to die on her own, to surrender to the guards. They would have made her death into a spectacle. Or worse, tied her down and then executed her. She pulled the rest of them down with her because of her simple, mortal fear. And only she had escaped.

How could she condemn a man for doing the same as she had once done?

_But Varinius was a slave master, a blood mage. He deserved to die. Elthina was innocent, as were all the others in the Chantry with her._

_...Elthina wanted to be a sacrifice. And now Anders wants to be a martyr._

“Liviana!”

“I cannot condone what he did,” she croaked. Dropping forward, bracing her hands against her knees, Liviana gasped, “But neither can I condemn him.”

“You- what?!” Sebastian grabbed her arm, and for once, she did not resist as he shook her around like a ragdoll. “You approve of what he did? Murdering a good, innocent-”

“She wasn’t innocent in this. She had the chance to act, and she refused.” Dragging her gaze up, she met his electric eyes and was mildly surprised she did not get shocked by the venom she saw within. “She was as guilty as anyone else.”

“No!” Shoving her away, Sebastian stormed up to Hawke. “He dies! Or else I will return to Starkhaven and bring such an army with me on my return that there will be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule,” he snarled. 

“This is not your choice to make,” Hawke growled back.

“So be it.” Whirling around, Sebastian paused beside Liviana, still crouched upon the ground, her head bowed. For a split second, it looked like he would barrel right past her. But his boots ground to halt at the last minute. “Liviana. Come with me,” he urged.

“What?” She blinked up at him. “You want me to… Even after I said...?”

“Aye,” he murmured. “I know you didn’t mean it. Come with me, and help me retake my throne. I- I need you by my side.”

Liviana stared at his outstretched hand as if she had had no idea what to do with it. Hawke’s voice called out wearily, “Go, if you’d like, Liviana. I would not fault you.”

Swallowing, she reached out, and curled Sebastian’s fingers around nothing. “I can’t,” she whispered, unable to look him in his eyes again. “Max is here, and I-”

“Save it,” he snapped. And then, he was gone. The man who said he _loved_ her was gone, who had promised he’d always be there for her. And all she felt was… nothing.

“Livvy?” Isabela gently laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Shaking off the fog that had enshrouded her mind, Liviana nodded. This was not the time or place to fall apart. War beckoned. “Yes. We need to move. Now.”

Hawke searched her face. Satisfied with whatever he found, he turned back to Anders. “I’m not going to kill you. But I think you should leave.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“The rest of you, let’s go.”

***

“I suppose I expected this from you, Champion,” Meredith sighed. “So be it. You will share the Circle’s fate.”

Liviana stood behind Hawke as the others bickered once more, her own focus torn between searching the faces of the mages, the dead and the living, her gaze wild as she sought Max’s familiar face, staring at Cullen. The Knight-Captain wore no helm, like his superior, and she could see every single one of his emotions as they rolled across his face. The old terror, undercut by a grim determination, was most prominent in the set of his brow and the grit of his jaw. But in his eyes, she saw a flicker of doubt. Her gaze caught his. _Don’t do this_ , she begged. Cullen shook his head, imperceptible to all, but blinding for her.

This was the cost of friendship. This was why she had never had friends in the ludus. For you never knew who would be thrown in the pit against you. You never knew who it would be, tied to the post when you were handed a whip to wield. Friendship made you hesitate, made you soft and weak. Steeling her spine, Liviana glared back at the templar. He meant to fight for his Order. Against her and the others.

_Andraste. If you’re out there, if you truly exist, please, please don’t make me be the one to kill him._

Or maybe this was her lesson. The man who loved her had left. Now another she called friend would place a corrupt Order and a madwoman’s commands above the lives he was sworn to protect, punishing them for a crime that was not even theirs. Trust was for fools, and she had fallen for it. There was still much for her to learn, it seemed.

“Prepare yourselves,” Meredith warned. “The rest of the Order is crossing the harbor now.”

Sparing not another glance at the Knight-Captains, Liviana turned and followed Hawke into the Gallows. Entering a large open chamber, filled with mages clinging together, some openly weeping, she gasped as she spotted a few adults herding several children deeper into the complex.

“There are kids here?” she stared after them. Of course there were. Hadn’t those mages she saved several years back said they had been little when they were brought to the Circle? And the templars meant to kill them all? Any doubts she might have held about her place in this war instantly vanished. She had killed her share of innocents. Never again.

“I’m not sure we should be doing this. Every time we help the mages, it seems to bite us in the ass,” Varric grumbled. 

“Second thoughts?” Hawke asked.

“Nah,” the dwarf shook his head. “I’m with you. Every step of the way.”

“We’ve been through worse shit than this,” Hawke grinned. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“Oh for the love of- I hate it when he says that,” Isabela complained, dropping to the ground next to Liviana, who was running a small honing steel over her blades. “Every time he does, everything goes tits up.”

“Are you guys starting to doubt me?”

“Never,” Aveline paused. “Almost never.”

“It’ll be fine, won’t it? I mean, it’s only another life or death battle,” Merrill piped up. “Although, I do think I’m forgetting something. Did I leave the fire on at home? Or lock my door? Hawke! I can’t remember! Oh hey, it’s Bethany!”

Hawke whirled around at that, his body going slack with the wave of relief that washed over him at the sight of his sister. “You’re alright,” he caught the smaller woman up in a fierce hug.

“So far,” she agreed. “Thank you for coming. Have you seen Carver, by chance?”

“He was with Meredith, last I saw,” Fenris replied. “Where I should be. I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered to himself as he took the open spot next to Liviana. 

“True love,” Isabela sighed. “Love really does conquer all. Even a deep-seated hatred against mages.”

Frowning, Liviana’s hand paused over her sword. “Sebastian said he loved me. Then he left.”

“Sebastian is a fool.” The former gladiator’s head shot up at the amount of venom that laced Hawke’s words. “What he felt for you wasn’t love, Liviana. Love follows each other through the Void and back, if that’s what it takes.” Fenris nodded up at the man. “Love doesn’t give up like that.”

She just shrugged as nonchalantly as she could muster, and returned her attention back to her blades. “Doesn’t matter to me anyways.”

“Cat? Cat!”

Glancing back up, Liviana choked out a sob at the sight of her brother, shoving his way through the crowd. “Max! You’re alive, oh thank the Maker!” She leapt up from the ground and launched herself into his arms. “I was so worried.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” He grabbed her face and forced her to look up at him. “I heard Meredith called the Right of Annulment. She’s going to-”

“I know Max,” Liviana gently disengaged herself from her brother’s grip. “We’ve already cast our lots with you.”

“We?” His eyes widened at the sight of Hawke and Aveline behind her. “Cat. That’s the Champion of Kirkwall and the Guard-Captain.”

Taking his hands, she led him to the small circle of her friends. “Max, this is Garrett Hawke and Aveline Vallen. Also, Varric Tethras, Isabela, Fenris, and Merrill. Oh, and Bethany, Hawke’s sister. Everyone, this is Maxwell.”

“Maximus Trevelyan, at your service,” the man swept them a proper bow. “What?” he grinned in the face of his sister’s glare. “It is a better name. A little levity in the face of certain death would do you good, you know.”

“I like him,” Hawke offered the man his hand.

“Maker save us all,” Aveline groaned. “We don’t need two of them.”

“Livvy, your brother is cute.” Isabela draped one arm over her shoulders, eyeing the man with obvious intent.

“Please stop. You’re making him preen.”

“Well, I was always the prettier one,” Max smirked as his sister shoved him. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “I still wish you weren’t, but I’m glad.”

“The templars are here!” Someone screamed from the gate.

“Ready?” Hawke turned to his friends.

“Not really,” Varric sighed. “Let’s go get this shit over with.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hawke clapped the man on his back. “Alright, listen up. Merrill, Max- are you fighting with us or your people?”

“I’ll fight with you, if that’s alright,” Max nodded. Liviana took his hand, and gripped it tightly.

“Sure. Merrill, Max, Bethany- stay behind us. If the templars cancel your magic, I want you all to be out of the melee. Varric, you’re their line of defense. Please keep my sister safe.”

“Not a hair on Sunshine’s head harmed, got it,” Varric replied.

“Fenris, Liviana, Aveline, well. Do your crazy attack thing. Be the living battering rams you were all born to be.” Liviana snorted. “And Isabela, with me. Let’s go.”

“That’s it? That’s your speech?” Varric spluttered. “I can’t put that paltry dribble in my book.”

“Blah blah, honor, victory, don’t die, drinks on Meredith later. Make the rest up,” Hawke shrugged. “You’re good at that. Move it!”

Despite the enormity of the situation, Liviana laughed, loud and clear, drawing more than a few startled glances her way. Reaching up to tousle Max’s waves, she leapt into the front to stand next to Orsino, drawing both of her blades. “Na via lerno victoria. Raise the gates!”

It was a disaster from the start. Most of the mages, unable to properly defend themselves, fell to demons within the first few minutes. Barreling through templar after abomination, Liviana skidded in the remnants of ichor that coated the hall. “There’s too many,” she called to Hawke.

“We’re going to have to separate,” he sighed. “Varric, Fenris, Merrill, and Bethany with me. The rest, go with Liv. We’ll meet up in the courtyard. And if anyone dies, I’m going to be pissed. So don’t.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Hawke,” Liviana shouted with a smirk as she raced down the opposite corridor. Isabela and Aveline fell into a comfortable routine born from their years of fighting side by side. For every new wave of enemies, Aveline rushed at them head on, Liviana at her side, forcing the wall back and to their knees. Dashing in and out of the fray, her daggers seeking any and all vulnerable chinks in armor and scales, Isabela pounced, singing under her breath as she danced around the fallen. And Max-

Liviana stared the first time she saw her brother cast. Using his staff to keep everything at bay, Max closed his fist, and yanked. Throwing a templar into the ceiling as if he weighed no more than a pebble. When too many demons pressed in on the group, he shoved them all back with nothing more than his will, cracking more than a few skulls against the stone. It was… terrifying, to say the least. Could all mages do this? She had heard of force magic, but never had she seen it wielded with such casual skill.

“Cat,” he spotted her at the other side of the hall, staring sightlessly at the crumpled armor around a templar, the soldier within crushed like a bug. “Cat, are you okay?”

She stumbled back, away from him. “I…”

“I’m still me. I’m still Max,” he held his hands out, cautious, so as to not startle her. “I’m still your brother.”

Was he? Could her brother toss around people like a child played with sand? This power, maybe Meredith was right, maybe mages were-

“We’ve both just learned a few new skills over the years,” he murmured. “That’s all. It’s how we choose to wield our powers that defines us, right?”

Both of them. The sister he had known couldn’t have mowed down ten soldiers without breaking a sweat, or batting an eye. They both had changed. And he wasn’t a blood mage. Nodding shakily, she let out a deep exhale. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“You’ve seen a lot, I can tell,” he paused in front of her, close enough for her to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, but still not touching her. “But I’m not them. There are still innocents here.”

“Hawke’s reached the yard!” Aveline shouted from up ahead. “We need to go!”

“Right behind you,” Liviana yelled back. Nodding at Max, they took off after the guard, sprinting down the bloody halls, and skidded to a stop just behind where Hawke stood, staring down Meredith and her templars. Ignoring Cullen, she stepped up next to the Champion, not bothering to sheathe her swords.

“You’ve done this to yourself,” Meredith was saying. “By standing with the mages, you’ve elected to share their fate.” Liviana’s hands tightened on her hilts.

“Knight-Commander,” Cullen took a step forward, his gaze shifting from Liviana to Hawke to Meredith, “You said we were going to arrest the Champion.”

“You will do as I command, Cullen,” she ordered, whirling on her second.

Leaping in front of Hawke, both of her swords raised, Liviana felt her heart frantically hammering against her throat. _Don’t do this_ , she silently beseeched Cullen, willing him to hear her pleas. _Please, Maker, don’t let him-_ His eyes snapped back to hers.

“No,” his voice rang out clear and strong. “I’ve defended you long enough. You go too far. I relieve you of your command. Knight-Commander, stand down!” Liviana almost sobbed with relief, her arms sagging to her side.

“I will not allow insubordination!” Reaching behind her, Meredith unsheathed her sword. Forged with a blade of red. A red with an unearthly glow, pulsing with its own beat.

“Varric,” Hawke muttered, his eyes transfixed on the flickering crimson blade, “Isn’t that…”

Varric breathed in, and forgot to exhale. “Well, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this wasn't too canon-y, I tried to avoid in-game dialogue as much as possible. I don't love this chapter, but oh well.


	27. Aftermath

Every muscle in her body screamed in protest as she stirred. Groaning, her fingers reached out only to feel unfamiliar sheets of a harsh bleached linen beneath her skin. Forcing her eyelids to pry apart, she glanced around. She was in a dormitory. For a moment, her breath caught in her throat at the sight, and she feared the worst. But no, the walls her were a pale gray stone, not warm sandstone, the cot she slept in a little wider and softer. And this place had windows. High narrow slits lined the room just under the ceiling, illuminating a stripe across her face with the rising sun. Pushing herself up to sit, Liviana surveyed the room.

Several templars and mages filled the other beds in the long hall, but many more cots remained empty. Across from her, Max slept, dirty bandages wrapped around one arm. Who had brought her here? The last thing she remembered was…

Hawke had left right after the red lyrium had taken over Meredith’s body, turning her into a shriveled statue, forever frozen in a rictus of fury in the courtyard. The mage was no longer welcome in a place where he had stood against the templars and killed so many of their number. Liviana had stayed. Mostly to look after Max, who was practically dead on his feet. It turned out her brother was also an accomplished healer, his main specialization. Force magic was something he had learned in secret from a few of the senior enchanters, just in case, he had told her in an aside. With so many of the other mages dead, all the healing fell to him and of the ones who remained alive in the Gallows, the majority had been injured. Working alongside a few of the Tranquil, who had hidden themselves away with the children, Liviana made the rounds, doing what she could to tend to wounds, making the few simple poultices she knew of and cleaning and stitching. She must have passed out herself at some point.

Dragging her swordbelt from underneath the cot where it had been neatly stowed, Liviana lurched to her feet and slowly made her way out into the hall. She needed to get back to the city, find Hawke and others. Was the ferryman still there? Or would she be stuck here for another day or so? 

Door after door passed by as she wandered around in an attempt to find the exit. Maker, this place was a labyrinth. Peeking in yet another door, she finally found a familiar face.

“Knight-Captain,” she greeted him. Hearing his title, Cullen wearily lifted his head, the barest hint of a smile ghosting across his face at the sight of her. “How are you? Have you slept at all?”

“Terrible,” he sighed. “I think I dozed off for an hour or two. I hope you don’t mind, I carried you to the dorms to sleep. I did not think you would have liked to sleep on the flagstones.”

“You assumed correctly,” she dropped into the chair opposite him. “Thank you. Is there anything I can do for you before I head back?”

“Not at the moment,” he shook his head. “The guard-captain wishes to coordinate with me once I’ve taken account of the damage here. We only have twenty-nine mages left, not counting the children, and about forty-two templars. She’s asking for whatever men I can spare to help in the city. There’s already accounts of looters, and food will soon be in short supply, as is shelter for many residents. I don’t even know where to being.” Slumping back in his chair, Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

Pursing her lips, Liviana thought. “The Viscount’s Keep, the throne room- it’s empty. As well as several warehouses across Lowtown and near the docks. Use those as makeshift shelters. All the people with no place to stay can go there. As for food, Kirkwall has good ties with the other Marcher cities, do we not? I’m sure Ostwick would send supplies, and Markham and Wildervale have tons of farmland. Tantervale might too, and Starkhaven. For now,” she scowled to herself at the thought of a certain prince who was even now on his way to the city. “Ferelden might lend aid as well. Hawke said King Alistair visited just a few months ago, and he seemed invested in the situation.”

Cullen scribbled down her suggestions as fast as she spouted them. “Those are all excellent ideas,” he sighed. “Thank you. I have also written a letter to the Knight-Commanders in Ostwick and Starkhaven, in hopes they might offer further guidance. There is so much to do, in such a short amount of time. The city… How is it?”

Sucking in her tongue, she chewed for a moment. Brimstone, ichor, fire, blood. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “Bad. There were demons everywhere in the streets last night, I’ve never- never seen so many,” she murmured. “Bodies, scattered everywhere. The crows will feast well in the coming days.”

“So they will,” he muttered, rubbing his face with one hand.

“Thank you, by the way.”

His snort blew across the sheaf of papers before him. “For what?”

“For standing up to her. I know it could not have been easy.” Her hand stretched across the table to find his, giving his fingers a squeeze. “I am glad I did not have to fight you.”

“It would not have been much of a fight,” he replied wryly. “I’ve seen you in battle. I’d be lunch for the crows right about now.”

Huffing a small laugh, she sat back in the chair. “I would have let you get in a good hit at least.”

“No, you would not have,” Cullen grinned. “But I appreciate the sentiment. I suppose I don’t have so many friends that I can just attack one whenever I feel like it, anyways.”

“If you wanted more friends, I’m sure Hawke would oblige.”

“Maker, _no_ thank you. I would not survive that friendship.”

“I’m not sure I did.” With a wince for the dull pain that shot through her hamstring, Liviana pushed herself up, awkwardly fumbling with her leaden arms. “I’m off to go check on Hawke, then to see what I can for Aveline. If you need me, send word to her and I’ll come, alright?”

“I will,” he nodded.

“Oh, ah,” peering around the corner of his door, Liviana glanced back at him. “Which way is out?”

His directions were easy enough to follow, the entrance only another door away. The ferryman was just arriving at the dock, thank the Maker, and the spray from the ocean was just what she needed to be fully roused, despite the aches that lingered. Stepping off the boat, Liviana gaped at the scene that greeted her.

Fires still smoldered, embers glowing brightly and houses and walls crumbling as she passed them. More than once, she stopped to help pull a person, or a body more often than not, from the wreckage, or aided in putting out yet another burning building. What should have only been an hour’s walk ended up taking almost the entire day, and the sun had begun to disappear behind the horizon as she reached the Hawke estate.

“Liviana!” Hawke threw open the door and grabbed her into a rough hug. “I was worried. No one had seen you all day.”

“Got stuck in the city,” she sagged against his chest. “Helping ever since I left the Gallows this morning. I was going to go help Aveline tonight, but I don’t think I can walk another step.”

Instantly, Hawke bent down and swept her into his arms. “You’ve done enough for one day. We’ll get you a nice bath tonight, and a full night’s rest, and tomorrow, we can start on everything else.”

“A bath? A real bath?” She perked up. “In a tub with water?” Waving to Varric and Fenris as they crossed the living room, she wrapped one arm around Hawke’s neck.

“Hot water, even. And a real bed,” he added. “Orana! Is the bath ready yet?”

“It is, Messere!” The serving girl popped her head out of his washroom. “Oh, Messere Liviana! I did not see you there.”

“She needs the bath. I’ll take one later,” Hawke gently slid Liviana to the floor.

“I can’t take your bath,” she protested.

“Of course you can. I live here, I can take one when I want,” he brushed her off. “Now, Orana will help you if you need it. Anything else, just yell.”

“Oh, I don’t-” Liviana blinked at the elven girl as the door swung shut. “I, ah, don’t really need any help getting undressed. Or with bathing.”

“I don’t mind,” she smiled. “I like helping. Please?”

Frowning, Liviana stood still as Orana assisted with unbuckling the pieces of her armor, carefully stacking the leather in a corner of the washroom, and combed out her hair. Gripping onto the edge of the copper tub, she hissed as the steaming water found every single cut and bruise, her skin stinging at the burn. It was perfection. Her head lolled back against the rim and she sighed.

“I have lavender oil, or sandalwood. Which would you prefer for your hair?”

“Orana, please- I really don’t need any help.”

“Oh,” the girl’s face fell. “I, um, have I offended, mistress?”

“No! No, it’s just… I was a slave too. And this reminds me too much of that right now,” Liviana ducked her head, sinking down into the water up to her nose, unable to meet her gaze. One tiny hand rested on her arm.

“I understand,” Orana murmured. “Would you let me do this for you as a favor, then? I enjoy doing things like this. It’s soothing for me, in a way. I just… You’re out there, fighting to keep everyone safe. And I can’t do anything like that. But I can do this. I can help you, so you can help others. Plus, I’m slightly worried you might drown if I leave you.”

Bubbles rose as Liviana snorted under the water. Tilting her head so that her mouth was above the surface, she smiled. “You’re probably right.”

The girl practically squealed with delight after Liviana gave her acceptance. Pouring a healthy serving of the lavender oil onto the long, black tresses, Orana began to hum under her breath. Liviana’s eyes fluttered close.

_That melody is familiar. What…?_

She began to sing.

“Elgara vallas, da'len   
Melava somniar.  
Mala taren aravas,   
Ara ma'desen melar. 

Iras ma ghilas, da'len   
Ara ma ne'dan ashir?  
Dirthara lothlenan'as,   
Bal emma mala dir. 

Tel'enfenim, da'len,   
Irassal ma ghilas.   
Ma garas mir renan-   
Ara ma'athlan vhenas.   
Ara ma'athlan vhenas.”

Calliope used to sing that song, when they were children, huddling together in their barracks, both of them frightened out of their minds. It was a Dalish lullaby, one that her mother used to sing to her. She had almost forgotten the words, but the song triggered the memory. Taking a deep breath, she began to sing along with Orana the words in Common.

“Sun sets, little one   
Time to dream.   
Your mind journeys,   
But I will hold you here. 

Where will you go, little one,   
Lost to me in sleep?   
Seek truth in a forgotten land,   
Deep within your heart. 

Never fear, little one,   
Wherever you shall go.   
Follow my voice-   
I will call you home.   
I will call you home.”

Home. Maker, she wanted to go home. But where was home anymore? Not Danarius’ old mansion where she had squatted for three years now. Should she go back to Ostwick? Could she just leave Max here, especially now? ...Could she go to Starkhaven? Maybe find Sebastian?

 _Hawke said that wasn’t love. So Sebastian lied to me? Or does he not know what love is either? Or was Hawke wrong? Do I even care? What do I feel for him?_ The warmth and safety Sebastian’s presence had once brought her had not comforted her in recent weeks. There was that niggling itch, a vague sensation that he wasn’t telling her something, but was it important? Maybe he was just holding himself back from asking her to marry him. Again. Love wouldn’t feel like that, right? The books described it as this all-encompassing desire to never let the object of your affections out of your sight, to always have them on your mind when they were gone, tumultuous butterflies rioting in your stomach, a physical ache. When she thought back, all she felt was… a wistful longing. Not for him, per say, but that feeling she had had when he had put his arms around her. Just a desire to be held and wanted for who she was. Just Liviana. Like how Cullen saw her.

“You’re crying,” Orana said softly.

“I am?” Raising a hand to her cheeks, Liviana stared at the wetness that coated her fingers. Why had she been crying?

Pouring one last bucket of water over her hair, Orana offered her a towel, and a robe. “Messere Hawke said you can use the spare bedroom. I’ll bring you up a tray later, but you’re to sleep until tomorrow, at least.”

Liviana burrowed into the fluffy robe, reveling in how soft the damn thing was. And the bed was even softer. Sinking down into the feather mattress, she turned every which way she could manage, before finally giving up. A lifetime of sleeping on hard cots and stone floors made it impossible to enjoy such a nice, frivolous bed. Grabbing the comforter and a pillow, she hauled herself to the floor and, rolling herself up into a cocoon of blankets, slept.

It was well into morning when she arose again, bleary-eyed and groggy. Making a mental note to thank Orana when she went down, Liviana stuffed the spread on the tray into her mouth, barely chewing or tasting the bread and cheese and berries as she swallowed. It had been ages since she had eaten last, and the toll of the battles had left her weak and famished. Maybe she should devote more of her time to training. She was getting rusty.

Shrugging into the clean set of clothes that had been left atop her dirty armor, Liviana quickly braided her hair as she descended the stairs to where the rest of her friends still sat. Merrill and Isabela lay on the couch, the pirate’s head in the Dalish girl's lap, and Fenris was sprawled across the floor, all still asleep. Livana creeped past them into the kitchen, smiling as she caught sight of Hawke and Varric.

“Sleep well, Firefly?” Varric slid her a cup of steaming tea. Taking the mug gratefully, she took a deep whiff of the herbs. Elderflower and mint.

“Better than I have in years,” she admitted. “So, what did I miss yesterday?”

“Just putting out a shit ton of fires, stopping whatever looters we could, trying to get supplies to the few healers left in the city,” Hawke sighed. “Aveline has her hands full right now, so we’re just trying to help her do whatever she needs. She mentioned that she asked Ser Cullen for reinforcements.”

“He said he was planning on sending them today. Or was it yesterday? I forget. Maker. This is…”

“A disaster,” Hawke muttered, sinking his face into his hands. “I can’t believe Anders, Justice, whoever the hell is he now did this.”

“I can,” Varric replied. “He’s been acting shifty for awhile now. I’ve been keeping tabs on him, but I never imagined he’d kill the Grand Cleric.”

“He asked me to distract Elthina,” Hawke’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, muffled behind his fingers. “But he never told me for what. He- he used me to plant those bombs. He made me-”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Liviana snapped, everyone's attention suddenly fixed on her given the vehemence in her tone. “Anders did this himself. You didn’t know he was going to blow up the Chantry, no one could have predicted that. So stop it.”

“You’re right, logically, I know that. But it doesn’t help the guilt,” he shook his head. “I’m not sure it ever will.”

Liviana held the sip of the tea in her mouth for a moment, letting the heat burn into her tongue. “The thought that I led my fellow slaves to their death the night we killed our master still keeps me up at night.”

“But they made the choice to follow you,” Varric frowned. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No. I know I’m not responsible for the actions of others. But it still hurts.”

Slowly, Hawke let out a shaky exhale. “Right. Does it ever fade?”

A mirthless smile curled at her lips. “I’ll let you know if it does.”

“So are you sticking around for now?” Varric interjected. “We could use your help.”

“Of course,” she shrugged. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Thanks,” Hawke snorted. “Oh, hey. I’m sorry about Sebastian. I know-”

“Don’t be. He made his choice. And I feel like I’m thinking clearly for the first time in awhile, without the confusion of my own emotions muddling things. I’m not ready for something like that anyways,” she sighed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be.”

“You will be,” Varric patted her on one shoulder, while Hawke bobbed his head in assent. “You deserve all the happiness in the world, Firefly.”

“See? With friends like you, who needs love anyhow?”


	28. Planning to Run

Everything smelled like ash and soot. Her hair, her leathers, the streets, the air. Wagons rolled down the roads at regular intervals, collecting bodies to cart outside the city. And each night, the fires burned, bringing the sickly scent of burning flesh on the breeze.

Liviana did what she could, helping both Aveline and Cullen as they needed her, patrolling the streets after dark, distributing food to those in need. Most of the nobility escaped the city within the first few days, leaving only the poor and terrified behind, just as she had predicted. More than once, Aveline bemoaned the fact that the mages who remained in the Gallows could not be of more use.

“We could have the rubble cleared in a third of the time,” she had sighed. “But, I cannot blame the fear. After what Anders did, well. It will be a miracle if mages are ever trusted again.”

Her muscles and back fatigued and screaming in protest from the abuse of clearing out the rubble out of a set of apartments that day, Liviana wandered the streets, taking mental note of which sectors needed aid more than others. Turning down a familiar road, she paused. And smiled. Tavish’s little tavern stood unharmed, tucked behind a partially fallen beam. But the light still glowed from within.

The door swung open with a rusty creak, and the wiry little man glanced up from the end of the counter. “You’re alive,” he nodded gruffly, his voice a little more coarse than usual. “Good.”

“I’m like a cockroach,” she grinned, sliding into an empty seat. Well, they were all empty, really. Business wasn’t at its peak this week anywhere in Kirkwall. “I can survive anything.”

Snorting, Tavish reached behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured them both a shot. “Haven’t seen the Knight-Captain tonight.”

“That’s right, it’s our regular night, isn’t it,” she mused. “Well, he’s been extremely busy. I wouldn’t expect to see him any time soon. So you’ll just have to deal with me, you crochety old-”

“I know you aren’t insulting our favorite bartender,” called a voice from the door.

“Cullen!” Liviana spun in her seat with a wide grin. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“What, and break my favorite routine? Never,” he settled into the stool next to hers. “I am a creature of habit, after all. Also, I need a drink after dealing with Lord Mervin all afternoon. Maker, that man gives me a headache. I don’t know why Aveline insists on foisting on the nobles upon me. She’s much more equipped to deal with them.”

“Aveline would just punch them,” Liviana laughed. “You have that templar discipline.”

“I can’t say I blame her,” Cullen sighed, accepting the glass of whiskey Tavish set in front of him with a tilt of his chin. “The thought has crossed my mind several times. Liviana,” he paused, uncharacteristically fiddling with his fingers, “There is something I must tell you. Knight-Com-”

The door swung open with a loud crash, and Liviana jumped, one hand reflexively reaching for her sword.

“Sorry!” Hawke yelped as he poked his head in. “I didn’t mean- Oh, Liviana! Ser Cullen? What are you two doing here?”

“Drinking?” She asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Spotted this place earlier. The Hanged Man’s pretty much rubble right now, so we needed a new place to drink,” he held the door open wide.

“We?” Cullen eyed the man warily.

Varric and Fenris and Isabela trailed in after the man, and suddenly, the once silent tavern was filled with enough noise that one might have been forgiven for thinking the tavern was packed full, instead of only occupied by a handful of people. 

“Sorry,” Liviana mouthed towards Cullen, who just shrugged. The rest of the group crowded around them.

“How did you find this place?” Isabela leaned her back on the bar, propping her elbows up on the edge.

“Stumbled into it one night awhile back,” Liviana replied. “I come here to drink in relative silence when you lot get too loud.”

“And you didn’t tell me about it? I thought we were friends,” Fenris smirked.

“I’m wounded,” Varric clutched his chest. “Well, it’s no Hanged Man, but I like it. Has a certain cozy charm to it.”

Liviana followed them to the table they claimed in the center of the room, beckoning with one hand for Cullen to sit. “Where’s Merrill?”

“Helping in the alienage still,” Isabela answered. “Poor thing hasn’t been out of there yet. There was a lot of damage, and many injured.”

“I should go down and help,” Liviana murmured. “Maybe tomorrow.” 

The whiskey burned a warm path to her stomach, and she felt the tension begin to seep from her body after a few drinks. But out of the corner of her eye, she noticed how Cullen sat, ramrod straight, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Just when she was about to reach out to get his attention, he glanced towards the ceiling, and with a deep inhale, spoke.

“Hawke,” he said into a lull in conversation. “There is something…”

“Yes?”

“I wrote to the Knight-Commanders of Starkhaven and Ostwick, asking for advice and aid about a week ago,” Cullen began. “Knight-Commander Carsten has decided to send some of his own templars to help in the relief efforts, since there is not much for them to do there after the Circle burned down.”

“Most of their mages were sent here, I remember,” Hawke nodded. “So why are you telling me?”

“The new templars, I’m not sure how they will react to you. An apostate, who sided with the mages and killed the Knight-Commander here,” he replied quietly. “I know it was necessary, and I will endeavor to make them see it was so, but I do not know what they will do.”

“So we should probably lay low for awhile,” Varric mused. 

“But Bethany,” Hawke shook his head. “What will they do to her? She fought alongside us, and she’s my sister. I don’t want to leave her here defenseless.”

Crossing and uncrossing his legs, squirming in his seat, Cullen glared down at his hands, raising one to tug at the back of his neck. “Andraste guide me, I cannot believe-” His head snapped up. Narrowing his eyes, he said, slowly and deliberately, “Did you hear that the storeroom where the phylacteries were stored was demolished in the attacks? It is on my list of things I still need to do, but I have not gotten around to it. So much to do, you see.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Hawke’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Would be a shame if any of your mages decided to escape now. Seeing as how you lack the manpower to mount a tracking expedition right now.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

Liviana sat up a bit straighter in her own chair. Did that mean Max could go? Could she get her brother out? They could leave this place, the two of them, and-

“I’m sorry,” Cullen murmured as he noticed her expression, “Knight-Commander Oswin has already asked to retrieve Maxwell. He’s sent a retinue that should be here within a fortnight.”

“Oh,” her face fell. Feeling as if all her dreams were slipping through her fingers, she cleared her throat. “That’s… fine, I suppose. Max said Uncle Oswin was a fair man, so he should be safe there.”

Hawke reached out to squeeze her hand. “Isabela, I don’t suppose you’ve gotten a crew together yet, have you?”

“Give me three days,” the pirate winked. “And we can go wherever your little heart desires.”

Varric just groaned. “The ocean. Yay. But seriously, thanks for the tip, Curly.”

“Curly?” Cullen frowned. “I hardly think that’s an appropriate nickname for one of the Order. Such as we are now, at least. Maybe it is fitting,” he heaved a sigh.

“Nah. You’re one of us now,” the dwarf grinned. “So you get a nickname.”

“The Knight-Captain is one of us?” Staring at his friend as if the man had lost his mind, Hawke just shook his head. “Sure. Why not. Why wouldn’t an apostate be companions with a templar? That makes perfect sense.”

“Do you think Carver will want to go?” Isabel asked. “I wouldn’t mind that eye candy on my ship.”

“Ew,” Hawke wrinkled his nose. “That’s gross.”

“I would not stop him should he wish to leave,” Cullen responded. “But he would need regular access to lyrium.”

“Oh, right,” he scowled. “Fucking lyrium. I’ll ask him, at least.”

Liviana paid little attention to their conversation. She was glad that Bethany would be able to leave. Max had said that she missed her freedom despite how well she had settled into Circle life. But to be able to take her brother from this place… Would Max even have wanted to leave? Not that it mattered now. He had not been outside the Circle since he was eight. Did he yearn for a life outside those walls? Or was he like she had been, complacent with her lot in life? It was one of the many things she had yet to ask him.

“I should get going,” she said to no one in particular. “The first shipment of grains from Markham will be here at dawn and I promised Aveline I’d help her keep the peace while it’s distributed.”

“I’ll go with you,” Cullen nodded at the rest. His eyes followed Liviana’s arms as she pulled the cloak he had given her over her shoulders, fastening the soft, albeit stained wool, with the little lynx pin. “You’re using the brooch.”

“Of course I am,” she managed a smile up at him, stepping out into the night and sooty air. “I like it very much.”

A blush, hidden by the darkness of the night, crept across his cheeks. “I am glad. Liviana… I am sorry about Max. I know how much you care for your brother.”

“It’s fine,” she shook her head. “Maker. If I’d known he was in the Gallows earlier, I could have gotten him out.”

Cullen’s feet ground in the dirt as he brought himself to a halt. “Wait. You were helping mages escape? You were part of the Mage Underground? Why? How?”

Liviana’s face paled. “Uhh…”

Turning abruptly from her, Cullen just sighed. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“I helped those who needed it, and defended those who were defenseless,” she replied softly. “That is all.”

His eyes met hers, sunken dark amber to swirling charcoal. Inclining his chin, he kept walking.

“Would you really have let me take Max from here?” she asked after a few minutes.

Pausing for a moment, Cullen ran one hand through his curls. “...I would have.”

“You trust him that much?”

“I trust you,” he glanced down at her. “If it came down to it, I know you would do what was necessary.”

Max as an abomination. Maker, she didn’t even want to consider it. But he was right. If her brother lost himself to a demon, there would be nothing left of Max at that point. It would be the same as cutting down any other demon like she had so many times before.

“That is an unpleasant thought,” Cullen realized. “I apologize for bringing it up.”

“Would you want to think about demons taking over your brother?” Snorting, she rounded the corner. “I’m the one who brought it up though, so no worries. Do you even have a brother?”

“I do. Younger brother. As well as two sisters.”

“Baby Cullen,” she tapped one finger against her lips. “Running wild in the Ferelden countryside, scraping his knee, tattling on his sisters- I can see it.”

“Hey!” he laughed. “I’ll have you know that it was Mia who was usually tattling on me, and-”

Grabbing ahold of the edge of his bracer, Liviana yanked him closer to her side. “Shh,” she hissed. “Someone’s following us.” Instantly, Cullen’s muscles tensed, his footsteps slowing.

“How many?”

“Six? Eight? I saw shadows moving up on the roofs too. This way.” There was a side alley just down to her left, with an open clearing at the end. Much better for fighting, should it come to that, and it always did. “Do you always carry that thing around with you?”

Reaching for the massive shield of his Order, firmly strapped to his back, Cullen gave her an odd look. “Of course I do. A templar without his shield is defenseless.”

Liviana stopped in the center of the square. “Just seems like a lot to always have on you. I mean, with the armor and all.”

“I’ve been used to the weight since I was 13,” he replied drolly. “Is there a reason for this inane questioning?”

“Not really,” she smirked. “Just waiting on our admirers to catch up to us. And here they are.”

“I’m not surprised you knew we were there,” a man called out from the shadows. Liviana’s breath fled her lung. Her stomach dropped out of her body. She knew that accent. “Liviana of Ludus Atropos, formerly the Victorem of the Imperium, your skills and talents are legendary,” the smooth voice drawled lazily. “I have been searching for you for a very long time.”

“Bounty hunters,” she muttered in an aside to Cullen. “This isn’t your fight. Go.”

Gripping his own sword, he gave her a curt jerk of his chin. “No.”

“You laid low at first, smart girl.” Waltzing into the open, the man grinned at her, the light of the torches that lined the street reflecting off his midnight hair that had been pulled back into a sleek queue, the edges of his dagged robes fluttering with each wave of his arm. “But then I heard rumors. Of a woman, matching your description, who helped the Champion of Kirkwall kill the Knight-Commander. A most curious thing. Do you miss your master, dear Liviana?”

“Hardly,” she growled, crouching lower to the ground. Her eyes narrowed at the hunter, a mage by the looks of if, watching as the others gathered on the edges of her periphery. Fourteen, including the mage. “So many just to bring little me back? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he sneered. “I’ve seen what you can do. How many well-seasoned warriors you can slice through with hardly any effort at all. Lord Varinius did well with your training. Unfortunately, he is now deceased, and his brother, Magister Volesus is most anxious to be reunited with his brother’s pretty pet.”

“Tell him thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” his teeth shone in the light. “Kill the templar with her, and take the slave. Alive.”

The night at the Gallows, Liviana had been too preoccupied fighting those blasted statues to pay much attention to Cullen. But she knew how templars tended to strike- with forceful blows, their movements slightly hampered by the mass of steel and iron they wore to protect their bodies. Cullen, however, was in a class of his own. Never before had she seen such grace and speed in a warrior in heavy plate, the moonlight glinting off his blade as he practically danced around the enemy. Every hit he landed resonated through the air, the vibrations ringing in her skull. His purge ripped through the mage's body, dropping him like a stone. Pouncing like the lynx she wore pinned to her cloak, Liviana sword impaled him to the ground..

The hunters surrounded them, swords and daggers all reaching out to slice and stab whatever purchase they could find, but there was none. As if they had fought side by side for years, Liviana and Cullen fell into an easy stance, guarding each other’s back even as they cut a swathe through the others. 

“How did that gang even get the drop on you?” she shouted over the din of battle.

“Are we really talking about that now?” he yelled back, bashing a man into the ground with his shield. “They came out of nowhere.”

“You weren’t paying attention you mean,” she chided. Stabbing straight through another’s leathers into the stomach, she kicked the body off her blade and whirled back around.

“I had a lot on my mind,” he grumbled. His blade whistled through the air as he swung it in a massive arc, easily severing the last head from its owner. Grimacing, he ducked to avoid the spurt of blood, and glanced around. “Was that the last of them?”

“Seems like it.” Picking through the dead, Liviana found the leader lying at the edge of the gutter, his robes dangling into the surface of the sewage that floated down the street. “Disgusting,” she muttered under her breath while leaning over to rummage around in his pockets. “Here we go.” Fishing a crumpled piece of parchment out, she walked back over to Cullen.

It was a strikingly good likeness of her, clad in a style of armor she had not seen since she left Tevinter, with her braids piled atop her head like a crown. “Extremely dangerous,” Cullen read over her shoulder. “A complement of at least 15 is recommended for her capture. A reward of- _1000 sovereigns_?! Is the Archon himself after you?”

Growling, Liviana ripped the paper into tiny shreds, the pieces disintegrating under the force of her ire. “Fucking Volesus,” she snarled. “My master’s older brother. Infinitely more twisted than Varinius ever was. And more influential.” Her head dropped as numbness settled in. Opening her hand, she watched as the wind bore the remnants of the parchment away. “I suppose I should leave,” she murmured. “If this one tracked me here, it’s only a matter of time before more come for me.”

For a moment, Cullen said nothing, his eyes watching the path the shreds of paper took, up and over the grimy buildings that surrounded them. “Will you go with Hawke?” he eventually asked.

“No,” she sighed. “I don’t want to put them at risk.”

“But if more hunters find you, and you are alone, then…”

She just shrugged.

“No,” Cullen shook his head. Liviana raised an eyebrow at the force of his voice. “You’ll stay here, where I can help keep you safe. It’s too risky out there on your own.”

“I’ll be fine, Cullen. Besides, you’ve got problems of your own here. I’d just be a distraction.”

“You’d be even more of a distraction if I was worried constantly about whether or not you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or captured,” he replied dryly. “I know you’re more than capable of caring for yourself,” he raised his hands defensively to stall her gathering protest, "But please. Stay. Just for my peace of mind.”

“Oh,” she stared at him, not sure whether or not to even blink, “Um. Alright.”

“I mean, Maker’s breath,” one hand rubbed at the back of his neck, “If you want. I would not dream of making you do something against your will.”

Liviana snorted. “Like you could.”

“Exactly,” he chuckled. “I would probably walk away from that encounter missing vital body parts. It’s that… I do not have so many friends that I would be willing to risk one just for my comfort.”

Glancing up at him, a slow smile began to spread across her face, crinkling the corner of her eyes, as a heavy warmth bloomed from within. Even as he was now, splattered with blood, his hair in disarray, with the moonlight casting pale shadows across his earnest, smudged face, Cullen was undeniably handsome. “That’s sweet,” Liviana murmured, one gauntleted hand idly rubbing the curious ache in her chest. “Fine. I will stay. Just for your ease of mind, of course.”

A hint of red tinged his cheeks. “I am glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So bonus chapter because I just got my commission from Kawereen in today and it just fits perfectly with this last scene. LOOK AT THEM. Liviana and Cullen <3.
> 
>  
> 
> Find [Kawereen here](http://kawereen.tumblr.com/). And [follow me on tumblr here](http://kawakaeguri.tumblr.com/), come say hi or ask me whatever. I post a lot of random stuff, mostly DA reblogs.


	29. Farewell For Now

She was now absolutely positive that the smell of smoke would never come out of her hair. Even with the mess tied back and braided, the scent of it still wafted out whenever she turned, and she was thoroughly sick of it.

“Some of the other mages use lemon in their hair, along with a reagent called natron, to get the smell of smoke out. There are a lot of fires in the tower,” Max watched her as she attempted to twist her hair up and out of the way of her nose. “Spells and potions go awry quite often.”

“I’ll try that,” she sighed, giving up once again. No matter what she did, the smell still lingered. But that didn’t matter right now. Playing with her hair was just a ruse to keep her from fidgeting. Max was leaving today, bound for Ostwick.

Hawke and the others had left two weeks ago, bound on Isabela’s ship for Maker knew where. “A grand tour of Thedas,” the pirate had declared. “With a few business opportunities on the side, of course.” Of all their friends, only Aveline and Liviana had remained in the city, as the rest were rather conspicuous to the populace. An elf with glowing lyrium tattoos? A Dalish elf with vallaslin living in a human city? A dwarf, whose picture was plastered on every book he sold? No, it was better they all go, just for now, until the new templars could be convinced that none of them were a threat.

Liviana, for her part, had moved out of the Hightown mansion where she and Fenris had squatted, choosing a simple, one-room apartment close to the docks instead. The emptiness of the estate was too much for her to bear, the simple squalor of her new residence with its cracked walls and the muffled shouts and drunken singing at 3 in the morning of her neighbors much more in line with her comfort level.

“The new templars seem friendly. For templars,” Max squinted at the line of soldiers standing at attention in the courtyard, watching as the leader of the squadron saluted Cullen and gripped his hand. “And pretty, too.”

Grumbling to herself, Liviana cast a wary glance over at the templars and shrugged. If she never heard another Starkhaven accent, it would be too soon. “He needs a haircut. All that shaggy hair.”

“Your templar needs one as well,” Max grinned as she glared at him. “His curls have gotten much longer recently.”

“He is not my anything,” she snapped. “And I wonder how closely you were watching him that you notice his hair? Maybe you're the one who wants him.”

“Hey, I need to make sure he stays at least half as pretty as you, so you won’t completely overshadow the man," he teased.

“Maxwell…”

“Maximilian. You’ll write to me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Liviana nodded. Hugging her arms tightly around her body to ward off the chill breeze, she frowned vacantly as the templars were led off to their new chambers to get settled in. “But if you make fun of my handwriting again, I’m going to stuff a spiky quill up your arse.”

“Duly noted.” He paused, tilting his head down to consider her words. “Where would you get a spiky quill?”

“I would make one.”

“Ah. That makes sense. Whoops, your templar and Ser Shaggy Hair is coming this way.”

“For the last time, he is _not_ -”

“Serah Liviana,” Cullen interrupted the pair with a stern glare aimed at them both, “I would like for you to meet Knight-Captain Rylen Kinnaird, from Starkhaven Circle.”

“Pleasure,” she replied flatly, keeping her arms pinned to her side.

“Serah,” Knight-Captain Rylen inclined his head. “I’ve heard a bit about you. You were friends with the Champion, or so I’ve been told.”

Liviana relaxed a bit at the sound of his voice. It was the familiar burr of his people and a certain prince, but rougher, more plain and homey. She liked it. “I am.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions about him later. At your convenience, of course,” he smiled down at her, the lines of his tattoos that marked his chin curving a bit. Maker, were all these templars giants? She barely came up to their sternum, Maxwell included. 

“Of course,” she inclined her head. “I am at your disposal, Ser Rylen.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you wanted to rip his head off?” Cullen asked as the other templar strode away.

“I don’t care for Starkhaven,” she sniffed.

“I thought you said you loved the city,” he turned to raise an eyebrow at her.

“I changed my mind.”

“Ah,” Max nodded sagely. “Boy troubles. So who broke my little sister’s heart, hmm? I can set him on fire, if you’d like.”

Some of her sour mood dissipated at that mental image. “He didn’t break my heart,” she smiled. “He just introduced me to some very confusing emotions I’d prefer to not deal with ever. But he’s gone now, so that’s that.”

“Knight-Captain!” A recruit ran up to them, armor jangling, practically falling over herself in her rush to get to him. “More templars are crossing the harbor now, ser.”

“That must be the Ostwick delegation. Trevelyan, are your things ready?”

Max jerked his chin towards the rucksack laying against a column, filled with all his worldly possessions- a couple changes of clothes, his notes, a few tomes he couldn’t bear to part with, along with a few trinkets gifted to him over the years by various colleagues.

“Cat,” turning to his sister, who was staring at the ground with a mulish expression he remembered well from their childhood, Max gently touched her shoulder. “Take this.” He slid the gold signet ring off his right hand and tucked it into her palm.

“This is our family sigil,” she frowned at the forgotten crest and rubbed one thumb across the engraving. “This is yours, I can’t take it.”

“And now it’s yours. I know where I come from and what I left behind, Cat. But you…” Sighing, he pulled her into a crushing embrace. “Go home, Kitty Cat. Mother and Father will want to see you. And if you send word, I can come visit as well.”

“I’ll go back,” she muttered into his shoulder, her voice choking in her throat. It took every bit of self-control to keep herself from sobbing into his robes like she yearned to do. For the first time in her life, she had her brother back, her family, and now he was leaving again.

“Not in like ten years, either. Soon. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good. And when you get married to Ser Cullen, I want an invite.”

“Max!”

“Hmm? I heard my name. What are you two talking about?” The templar in question eyed them both suspiciously.

“Maxwell is being an idiot,” she grumbled. Keeping her place beside her brother as Cullen and the new templars exchanged pleasantries, Liviana called out to the one who seemed to be in charge, “Hey, you!”

“Yes, serah?” The templar regarded her warily.

“Keep him safe. Or I swear by all that is holy, I’ll- mmrph,” Max clamped his hand over his sister’s mouth, smiling apologetically at his miffed escort.

“You’ll have to excuse her, Ser Derrick. She’s mouthy, and- ow! Did you seriously just bite me?”

Liviana stuck out her tongue at him. “Jerk.”

“Brat.”

“I’ll miss you,” she grinned.

“And I you. Remember your promise, Cat.”

Untying the leather thong that held the halla pendant from around her neck, Liviana threaded the heavy ring onto the cord and fastened it once more, patting it into place as she watched Max stroll out of the Gallows, looking every bit the noble he had been born to be.

“You two are ridiculous,” Cullen sighed from beside her. “Threatening a templar? Do you really think that was wise?”

Shrugging, she leaned against a column and tugged the hems of her cloak in closer. “He needed to know that I would hunt him to the ends of Thedas if he let anything happen to Max. That’s all.”

He shook his head, the blonde curls falling into his face. Max had been right, he did need a trim. Although she rather liked it as it was now. “Andraste preserve me. He will be fine, Liviana. Or… You never told me, why he calls you Cat.” 

The blood in her veins turned thick and sluggish, like molasses. Only two people had ever been allowed to call her that and now he-

_Do you know why I call you Catalina? I call you by your name so that you might remember that this wasn’t always your life, that you had a family who loves you and still misses you. That once, you had a life that was your own and that you had honor._

There had only been a span of five years where no one had called her Cat. And what had she done with her life in those years? Nothing, save live a boring, mindless, menial existence. But being here, meeting Max again- it reminded her that this was not all she was. Maybe there still was a home left for her somewhere to return to. Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea to have someone else remind her that she was not just Liviana, runaway slave, to remind her of who she once was and who she yet could be. And who better, than the only person who had never pressed her to be either?

“Catalina,” she said softly. Cullen had to lean in to catch her barely whispered words. “Evelyn Catalina Trevelyan. My name, from before.”

“I had not realized,” Cullen cursed himself for not realizing that sooner. After all, Liviana was not a Marcher name, and a family as devout as the Trevelyans were rumored to be would not have named their daughter something that was clearly so Tevinter. “I apologize.”

“No, it’s… fine. Actually,” she glanced up at him, and he was struck at how impossibly long her lashes were. Did she know that her eyes, the exact shade of the sky before a storm, had flecks of golden sun hiding behind them? “If you wanted to, you could- you could call me Cat. I wouldn’t mind.”

Her tone of voice indicated how much of a leap of faith this was for her. Everyone that he had known to be acquainted with her, even Hawke and Varric, had called her Liviana. Or did they just call her that in public? But instead of agreeing, like a normal person, and thanking her, all that he managed to blurt out was, “Why?”

Drawing her brow in, Liviana chewed on her bottom lip, her fingers fidgeting with the hilts of her knives against her thigh. “To remind me,” she said at last. “So I don’t forget. I forgot, for a long time, until I found Max. I don’t think I want to do that again.”

Mystified, Cullen could only nod. “I would be honored to. It’s a lovely name.”

“Very Antivan,” she smirked. “Did you know my family has ties to the Crows? Hmm. Maybe I should have told the templar that instead. Do you think that would have scared him more? Should I chase after them?”

“Liv- Cat, no. Maker’s breath, you- You’re joking,” he sighed. “Of course you are.”

Clamping one hand over her mouth, Liviana laughed, gripping his bracer to keep her balance as she doubled over. “So gullible,” she giggled. “And that’s why you’re my favorite. Alright, I promised a lovely old lady I’d help them keep the looters away tonight now that they just received a new shipment in, so I’m off. Tell your new templar friend to send word whenever he wants to meet.”

Tilting his chin down, Cullen watched her slip out of the Gallows and head down to the docks, her cloak fluttering in the wind behind her. _You’re my favorite_ , her laugh lingered in his mind. 

_Enough dallying. There is much left to do today._ Gathering himself up, he disappeared back into the complex, headed for his office, fixing a stern expression on his face as per his normal.

And if anyone saw their Knight-Captain randomly smiling throughout the rest of the day, no one said a word.

*** 

“Knight-Captain,” Liviana slid into the chair across from the dark-haired templar with a graceful nod. This tavern, one she had not frequented yet, was fairly empty tonight, only a few tables occupied at the other end of the room.

“Please, lass, Rylen’s just fine for me. I’m off-duty anyways,” the man grinned. “Drink? Ale’s terrible here, but the whiskey is palatable.”

“Whiskey it is, then. So, Rylen,” she stressed his name. “What did you want to ask?”

“Direct. I like it.” Shifting in his seat, he leaned back, the picture of casual relaxation. “You were there the night the Chantry blew up, right? And you knew the apostate who did it?”

“Anders,” she sighed. “Don’t ask me where he is, I don’t know.”

“He escaped?”

“We were a bit preoccupied with the burning city at the moment,” she replied dryly. “But… No.” _Dammit, I bet Sebastian’s already told everyone in Starkhaven by now, I can’t even lie. I wonder if he’s won back his throne yet? Should we start preparing for another invasion?_ “Hawke chose to not kill a man he had called friend for years.”

Rylen’s brow furrowed. “And Hawke was a mage. Another apostate.”

Pursing her lips, Liviana tilted her head to one side, cycling through words as fast as lightning in her head. “Have you hear about how what things were like under Meredith yet? There were more than the fair share of blood mages here from the start, Maker knows I’ve seen the worst of it. But,” she stared up into his eyes, a shade greener than Sebastian’s blue, “She was part of it. Void, she was probably the entire cause of it. The way she allowed such oversight and abuse meant mages ran. And when the templars caught up to them and corner them, they fought back in the only way they knew how. Anything to avoid going back. Even possession and death were preferable. Hawke was… We were just doing the best we could, given the circumstances. He’s not a blood mage. Nor is he bent on world domination, or the destruction of the Chantry, or whatever stories are circulating about him say. He was just a man, just trying to survive this fucking place.”

His fingers drummed a random staccato against the wooden surface of the table as he sipped his drink, his gaze searching hers. “Alright,” he eventually nodded. 

“That’s it?”

“Yep. Rutherford said you were a good one, honest and trustworthy. And he seems to be the same sort. So I believe you. Hawke’s got no quarrel with me,” Rylen replied. 

Livana’s eyes narrowed, trying to determine if there was any sort of deception to his expression. Satisfied with what she found, she returned to her drink. “Alright,” she echoed. Briefly, she wondered what this was all about. If that’s all he wanted to ask her, why meet at a bar? Why not just have asked her while she was in the Gallows? Raising her glass to her lips, she studied him. No, he didn’t have the same look about him as she had seen in others when they were interested in her. His eyes were clear and open, his smile easy and warm. Perhaps she could be friends with this one, too. “So, what else did Cullen tell you about me?”

“That you were the most skilled warrior rogue thing he had ever seen,” Rylen chuckled. “I don’t think he’s quite sure what you are, to be honest.”

“No one is,” she laughed. “I’m a dual wielder, use two swords, but I’m only mildly adequate at stealth and subterfuge. My training was… rather unconventional.”

“Sounds like a story to me,” he noted.

“Maybe another night.” Chewing on her lip, she glanced down at her hands, then back up at him. “How is Starkhaven? It’s been awhile since I’ve passed through there.”

“Same old. Although I heard a rumor that the son of the last Prince Vael was raising forces to start a coup. Which is probably for the betterment of the city. The current Prince Vael is a bit of a…” Rylen searched for the term he wanted to use.

“Lackwit,” Liviana suggested.

“Aye,” he chuckled. “That. We’ll see how this new Vael does though. He was here in Kirkwall as well, wasn’t it?”

“Sebastian,” she murmured. “He was. He left the night the Chantry exploded.”

“Smart of him,” Rylen nodded. “If I had the option, I would have booked it, too.”

“Enough about this place. What of yourself?”

“Me?” Looking surprised that she would even care, he stroked his chin with one calloused hand. “Youngest of five, son of a stonemason, joined the Order when I was fifteen. And that’s about the sum of me. Oh, and admirer of pretty lasses,” he winked at her.

“Oh for- You’re terrible,” she groaned.

“Aye,” he agreed amicably. “That’s all I’m going to say on the matter though. Rutherford warned me you have a penchant for getting stabby when you get unwanted attention. I like my bits where they are and in one piece, thank you very much.”

Liviana just stared at the man. A quiet giggle bubbled forth. And another. Falling back into her chair, she threw her head back and laughed. “You know what, Rylen. I think we’ll get along fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't think I ever put this one here either, but here's another sketch of Liviana, done by the amazing [@elizastarkart on tumblr](http://elizastarkart.tumblr.com/)


	30. A Quick Job

The next several months passed in relative peace, or as peaceful as a destroyed city could be. Liviana split her time between helping random civilians, guarding stores, chasing down bandits and gangs who thought to intimidate the poor into paying protection on their businesses, and helping Aveline keep the roads around Kirkwall clear. It was not glamorous work, nor was it challenging, but she found enough satisfaction in helping others to keep her going.

Cullen, for his part, swore that he could not have survived so well without her. On the rare nights that he had free from his duties, or when the stresses of trying to keep the city together got to be too much for him to bear, the Knight-Captain would seek out the little bar where Tavish worked and pass the hours in Liviana’s company, and eventually, Rylen’s as well. How he had managed to end up as the de facto ruler of Kirkwall, he had, to his horror, no idea, but since he had vowed to protect and serve when he joined the Order, protect and serve was what he did. Rylen was a huge asset in this. The man’s level-head and rational demeanor had helped solve many a problem with regards to the infrastructure of the city and the issues that arose from the clean-up process that was still ongoing. Large portions of the docks and Lowtown were reduced to rubble, and the alienage was completely gone. Bodies were still being pulled out of the wreckage, and the possibility for infection was high. Every time he discovered one solution, three more problems arose. It was neverending.

At least here, in this tavern, he could try and attempt to forget about the weight of the city bearing down on him for a few hours. Maker, what he would have done without her easy companionship and that smile and laugh which came faster and more plentiful these days, Cullen did not know. He didn’t even mind that she and Rylen were both forever conspiring to tease him. For the first time in a long time, he was almost at peace.

Almost.

His role in the mage-templar conflict disturbed him. If he had not been so blind to Meredith’s follies, if he had taken a stand sooner, could this have been prevented? Could lives have been save, the city, spared? When had he lost sight of what it meant to be a templar? Was the entire Order flawed? Templars were necessary, he believed that. When a new mage’s powers flared, sometimes the only thing that could save their life was a purge from a templar’s will. But they were supposed to be guardians, fair and just, not… whatever the Gallows had been.

How had he ignored the terror of his charges so long? How had he let his own trauma rationalize their fear of him? Why was it that when he asked his superiors for guidance on where to go from here, all he had gotten was a veritable shrug and a clap on the back? No new Knight-Commander was coming to take Meredith’s place. It was just Cullen, who was now in charge of the Gallows and the entire city of Kirkwall, somehow. Maker, he was tired.

“So Varric’s on his way back,” Liviana said, wrinkling her nose as she stared at the chess board in front of her. “You’ll like him,” this she directed at Rylen, who sat in a chair to her left with his elbows resting on his knees. 

“And Hawke?” Cullen asked.

“Staying away. Too many people looking for him. Some want to worship him, some want to kill him. It’s best for him just to stay in whatever hidey-hole he’s stuffed himself in,” she muttered. “So Cullen. How’s Lady Rochelle?”

“Andraste preserve me,” the man groaned. “Please don’t remind me.”

“Oh?” Rylen perked up. “Does our Knight-Captain have another admirer?”

“I do not know where these people are coming from,” he muttered into his cup,. “Or why they are all suddenly interested in me.”

“You have the power in Kirkwall,” Liviana smirked. “And bitches love power.” A choked cough got caught in Cullen’s throat. “Plus, you’re pretty. Rochelle told you so. Or how did she put it?”

“Please don’t.”

Affecting a high-pitched, airy Orlesian accent, Liviana batted her lashes at the mortified man, much to Rylen’s amusement. “Why, Knight-Captain! Your muscles must be so fatigued from carrying ze weight of Thedas-”

“It’s not the entire blasted world, just one city-”

“-and eet iz starting to show in your face. You must not scowl like that, non? Your handsome face will be marred with wrinkles, and that would be a true tragedy for a visage that iz as perfect as yours. And zen what would all the ladies think?”

“They would think that I don’t give a whit what they they think,” he grumbled.

“Oh, and my favorite, Lord Cadron. Knight-Captain,” she struck an awkward pose in her chair and lowered her voice an octave, “You look very… stressed. I know of a remedy that would help to… relieve some of that tension,” she drawled. “I have been told I have… very talented hands.”

“He said that to me in the middle of the Viscount’s Keep,” Cullen spluttered, glaring at Rylen who was now howling with laughter. “With four other nobles around me!”

“You know they were just cursing themselves that they didn’t mention it first,” Liviana grinned.

Dropping his flaming face into his hands, Cullen’s muffled voice slipped through, “I hate you.”

“Lies,” she drained the last of the wine. “I need to go, catch at least a few hours of sleep. Promised the dockmaster I’d be there before dawn tomorrow. Besides, I’m going to lose this game anyways, as usual. Don’t forget, you promised to spar with me tomorrow.”

“I haven’t forgotten. Night,” Rylen called as she disappeared through the door. Cullen just glowered at the space where she had been. “So, mate. Why haven’t you asked her out yet?”

“Pardon?” Cullen’s head shot up. “Why would I do that?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Rylen shook his head. “Both of you. Daft as a nug. It’s obvious you’re in love with her.”

“It’s nothing like that,” he frowned. “She is my closest friend. I care for her immensely, but not in the way you’re assuming.”

“Right,” Rylen chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that, lad.”

Metal squeaked against wood as Cullen sat back in his chair. Rylen was wrong, wasn’t he? He was not in love with Liviana. She was far too impetuous for his taste, with a penchant of leaping before she looked. Stubborn. Drank far too much. Violent. She even admitted to helping mages escape.

She was also kind. Generous. Strong, courageous. And Maker, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. How she smiled, soft and gentle, when he called her Cat. Her ability to calm the storm inside of him just with her presence. But that wasn’t love. He did not dream of her in his arms at night, or wonder how soft her skin would be, or imagine the sounds she would make if he kissed her.

 _Well, now I am thinking of all that. Andrast preserve me._ Burying his face in his hands, Cullen just groaned. “We both agreed awhile back that our friendship is too valuable to us both to risk it on something like a physical dalliance.”

“I see. But I don’t think it’s a dalliance you want with her, Rutherford.”

“I am a templar,” he sighed. “There is no future outside of that. What could I give her anyways? A night together every fortnight? That would not be fair to her. She deserves so much more than anything I have to offer.”

And for the first time since he had eagerly packed up his bags at age thirteen to join the templars, Cullen almost regretted his vows.

***

“Livvy! There’s my pretty girl!”

Flinging her arms wide open, Isabela strutted down the gangplank and swept up Liviana into a crushing hug, the latter woman wheezing as her organs were squished to pieces. “Oy,” she managed to gasp, nodding towards the deck as another person came barreling out of the ship.

“Hi!” Merrill squealed just before she launched herself at Liviana, the latter awkwardly patting the Dalish on her head. “Oh, I missed you! And I even missed Kirkwall, can you imagine! I have so much to tell you. Did you know I saw a panther? One of the big ones that roam in Antiva! And the markets at Llomerynn and-”

“Give the woman some room to breathe,” Varric laughed from behind them. “Hey, Firefly. You look good.”

“You too,” she grinned. “Although you look a little bit toasted around the edges.”

“Blasted sun,” he grumbled, rubbing at the peeling skin on his face with one hand. “It was everywhere.”

“The sun has a tendency to do that,” Liviana agreed. “So how are Hawke and Fenris? Are you staying here for long?”

“We dropped them off in Wycome,” Isabela replied as they began walking deeper into the city. “Plenty of work to be hand in a place like that, and plenty of people for them to blend in with. As for me,” she shrugged. “I think Varric and Merrill are staying here.”

“I’ve had my fill of boats for forever,” the dwarf nodded.

“Boats are nice. For awhile. But I think I’ll stay on land for now,” Merrill added. “Oh! I should go check on my house and the alienage. I’ll catch up with everyone later!”

“I’ll probably stay a few weeks, gather some cargo before heading out again,” Isabela watched as the Dalish elf hurried down the street away from them. “You want to come this time?”

“I think I will,” Liviana nodded. “Max has been nagging me to visit Ostwick too.”

“You should,” Varric glanced over at her. “I’m sure your family would be overjoyed to see you again.”

“Maybe,” she sighed. “Well, there it is Varric. Your new baby.”

Rounding the corner, the group stopped in front of the newly rebuilt Hanged Man, generously funded by one certain Varric Tethras. Liviana was rather impressed by how it looked exactly the same as before the demolition, greasy stains and all. 

“Home sweet home,” he grinned, laying his arms against the wall in a semblance of a hug. “Oh, how I missed thee. First round’s on me, guys.”

Liviana found a chair close to the roaring hearth, tucking her feet underneath her legs as she sat while Varric grabbed the drinks. “Secret admirer?” she spied the letter that Corff had passed to Isabela as she had entered, now stuffed into her belt.

Reading the name on the envelope, Isabela just smirked and sliced it open. “Maybe. Hmm,” she scanned the contents. “Hey, Varric. About how you said no more ships… Someone needs our help.”

“No, Rivani,” the dwarf groaned. “I don’t care if it’s the Empress of Orlais who needs our help. No more ocean.”

“It’s not the Empress of Orlais,” she tapped the parchment against her shoulder, regarding them both with a curious light in her eyes. Glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop, she leaned in and lowered her voice. “It’s the King of Ferelden.”

“What?” Liviana stared at her friend.

“Zevran- you never met him, Livvy, he’s an old friend, a former Antivan Crow-”

“Former?”

“It’s a long story,” she waved the letter in the air. “He says he gave the king some information, and that the king has need of transport to Antiva, as well as a guide for the less savory parts of the city.”

“What, the king doesn’t have guards and ships of his own?” Varric huffed. “Pass.”

“I’m guessing he doesn’t want people to know,” Liviana replied slowly.

“Right. Very hush hush. There’s good gold to be made in it. Plus, having a king’s favor could come in useful,” Isabela mused.

“Sounds fun,” Liviana replied. After all, hadn’t she been getting bored recently? Patrols and guard shifts were all well and good, but the itch for more had burrowed under her skin. Maybe an adventure to Antiva would be enough of a challenge to keep her satiated for awhile longer.

Varric shifted forward in his seat, dropping his chin into one hand. “Alistair, huh? Met the guy when he came through Kirkwall last year and wanted to meet Hawke. He seems nice, for a king.”

“He is nice. Very nice,” Isabela purred. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I knew him from before he was a king, when he and Elissa Cousland were just Grey Wardens. It was a lovely evening.”

Barking a short laugh, Liviana could only shake her head. “Of course it was. Well, Var? You in?”

“Why the hell not,” he muttered. “Just a short trip, right? To Antiva, then right back to Kirkwall?”

“Sounds like it. We’ll take a few days to rest, and then be off at the end of the week to Denerim,” Isabela pulled a little pad out of one pocket and stole Varric’s quill to jot down a few errands she needed to complete as they came to mind. “That reminds me, I need to find a buyer for that Nevarran spidersilk I got.”

“Mistress Nell up in the Merchant’s District was saying something about spidersilk last week,” Liviana remembered. “She’d probably take it off your hands.”

“I’ll send one of my boys up tomorrow, then. Andraste’s tits, I’m exhausted.”

“Same,” Varric yawned. “I should take advantage of sleeping in a regular bed and not that accursed hammock while I can.”

“I’ll leave you both to it,” Liviana rose and draped her cloak over her shoulders, pinning it in place with her brooch. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

There wasn’t that much that she had to do before she left. She stopped by the Viscount’s Keep, to let Aveline know she was leaving for a bit, and the docks to tell the dockmaster, and also a few other merchants that she did regular work for. Packing didn’t take long either. Unsure of how long she would be gone for, she moved her lockbox with all of her coin into Varric’s room at the Hanged Man, along with her spare set of armor. Everything else came with her. _A few changes of clothes, my weapon kit, some herbs and potions and my mortar and pestle, just in case. A few spare lockpicks. I should go to Ostwick after this job. Just for a few days, to see Max and… my parents. It has been almost six years since I left Tevinter. I think I’ve changed enough to not make a fool of myself when I see them again, haven’t I?_

Cullen. She still needed to tell Cullen she would be leaving as well. Ignoring the dull ache that spread from her chest at the thought of not seeing him for weeks, Liviana boarded the ferry that would take her to the Gallows, gazing out at the murky depths of the harbor. The reconstruction was going well, and the Knight-Captain was well-respected and effective in leading the city, despite his recalcitrance and dislike of the nobility. He didn’t need her help anymore, if he ever had. She suspected it was more a case of the latter. So he shouldn’t miss her much. And she would be fine. They were just friends, after all, and she would return in a few months or so.

So why did it feel like a literal knife in the heart? Twisting and digging, sucking the air from her lungs?

Rolling her neck to rid herself of the gathered tension, Liviana slipped through the courtyard and went deeper into the Gallows, her feet following the worn path that led to the Knight-Commander’s office, now Cullen’s. “Knock-knock,” she rapped on the doorframe.

His head, bent low over the reports in front of him, lifted up, amber eyes blinking owlishly at her. “Cat,” he greeted her. “Just the person I was thinking of.”

“Flatterer.” Smiling as she stepped inside, she perched one hip on the edge of his desk, ignoring his protests. “Why were you thinking of me?”

“I have a job for you,” he reached for a report. “There’s-”

“Can’t,” she interrupted him. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Slowly withdrawing his hand to lay carefully in front of him, Cullen’s face shuttered into neutrality, his expression keeping whatever emotions he held in check. “Oh? Where?”

“Isabela has a job for me. Client is paying for silence, so I can’t say more. And it’s not illegal,” she added, noting the look of consternation on his face. “I don’t think. So don’t fret.”

Cullen nodded. “How long will you be gone?”

“Hard to say. I thought I might… stop over at Ostwick on the way back. Make sure Max hasn’t burned the place down, and such.” Her eyes drifted down, one leg idly swinging to and fro in the air. “Three months, at most?”

The breeze from his sigh ruffled the papers stack in front of him. Running a hand through his curls, he smiled up at her, slow and weary. “I would tell you to stay safe and out of trouble, but I fear that would be impossible for you. I will miss you.”

“You will?” Her head perked up.

“Of course I will.”

“You could write to me,” she suggested. “Send them to Max, and I’ll get them when I arrive there.”

“I could,” he nodded.

“But you won’t,” she snorted.

“Probably not.”

Breathing a soft laugh, she hopped back off his desk and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Cullen. Don’t forget to eat. And try to sleep, you look terrible.”

“Yes, Mother,” he replied dryly. “Safe journeys, Catalina.”

“You know,” pausing by his door, she turned to flash him a smile that pierced him straight through his heart. “I’m glad I told you to call me that. It sounds much nicer coming from you than it does Max. See you around, Cullen.”

He watched her leave with that same curious ache that felt like electricity thrumming through his veins. It was just for a few months. He would be fine without her for such a short time; after all, he was a busy man. More than likely, his duties would make the time fly by and she would be back, pestering him in no time.

If only her scent hadn’t lingered where she had just stood. Sniffing, he smiled to himself at the familiar spicy warmth of the oils she used in her hair. Bergamot and jasmine. With a heavy sigh, he glanced back down at the reports in his hand. “To work,” he muttered. It was going to be a long few months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you for all the comments and kudos. You guys keep me going and I love you all.


	31. A Murder of Crows

The wind whipped up through the waves that broke against the side of the ship’s hull, lightly spraying her skin with a fine coat of salty mist. Leaning against the railing, Liviana watched the inky darkness beyond the prow. This was always her favorite part of sailing. Nothing between her and the sky and sea, surrounded by only the thousands of twinkling stars that lit up the night, Satina and Liriel both high overhead, heavy and full and bright.

She heard the footsteps approach her and instantly knew who it was. He had a particular gait that she was well acquainted with. “Your Majesty,” she spoke into the air without turning. “Restless?”

“Please, call me Alistair,” the man replied, settling his elbows next to hers. “If you call me Majesty, I might accidentally ignore you like I do everyone else. Liviana, was it?”

Nodding, she glanced over at him. His high brow was furrowed deep in thought, the broad expanse of his towering form hunched over. He had the appearance of a soul tormented almost to the limit. It made her... sad. “You know, you walk like a templar.”

“Is that how you knew it was me without looking? I thought it was a sneaky rogue tactic,” he grinned. “I was trained by templars. Before the Grey Wardens conscripted me.”

“That’s right,” she remembered. “Isabela said she met you during the Blight. You slayed the archdemon.”

“No, that was my wife. I just stood around and looked pretty.”

Such droll, self-deprecating humor was unexpected from a monarch, but considering he had sneaked out of his own kingdom in the dead of night to investigate a rumor that his Antivan Crow friend sent him, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Either way, she thought she rather liked the man. “It seems she chose right for the job.”

“I, ah-” Alistair stammered. “Well,” clearing his throat, he caught her smirk and groaned. “Yes, yes, Chantry mouse, it’s really easy to make me blush.”

“Duly noted,” she laughed.

“So I know Isabela, and a bit about the dwarf, but nothing about you. I would like to know who I will be fighting beside, if that’s alright with you. Your accent says Tevinter, but you don’t have the air of a blood mage bent on world domination.”

Liviana flinched inadvertently at his words. Frowning down at the waves, she shifted her feet and said, “I was a slave, a gladiator once. I escaped several years back, and have been living in Kirkwall since.”

“Ah,” wincing, he reached up to scratch the back of his head. “Sorry for asking.”

“No. You need to know you can trust me at your back if things take a turn for the worse. I’m not the sort that tends to betrayal. You hired me to protect you, and I always see my jobs through to the end. I’ve got a reputation to keep up, you see. If word gets out I let a king die on my watch, I’d never find work again,” she grinned. “So I’ll have your back, Your Majesty. No matter what.”

“King killing is bad for business,” Alistair bobbed his head in agreement. “Lucky for me.”

“Wind’s good,” Isabela strode up them from behind, Varric close on her heels. “We should reach port tomorrow morning at this rate. So, Your Majesty, care to tell us where we’ll be headed?”

Alistair’s eyes appeared like two fathomless orbs, cast sightlessly over the vast expanse of ocean, just the barest hint of starlight caught within. A man with a thousand questions, and no answers. Not yet.

“The Crow archive. I need to break in.”

***

Perhaps it was the Antivan blood in her, calling her home to the land of her ancestors, but Liviana had always felt comfortable in this place, especially at night. Whispers echoed in the narrow alleys, the scent of spices and wine wafting through the warm air, poison and murder lurking behind every shadow- it was every bit as dangerous as the Imperium where she had been raised, but so much more less restrained. And its people, every bit as elegant and refined as the nobles she had seen in Nevarra and Orlais, yet filled with a passion so strong, it was almost tangible. Smiling to herself, she inhaled a deep breath, her feet securely navigating the cobbled streets, one hand trailing against the rough walls of buildings they passed.

“Enjoying yourself?” Isabela chuckled.

“Mm,” Liviana turned a feral grin in her direction. “It’s a good night.”

“That’s it, up ahead,” Alistair’s voice held them back. “The Archive.”

For the past three nights, they had canvasses the streets, spent an inordinate amount of time perched atop rooftops to watch guard rotations, and used every single contact they could muster up to try and find the best way into the building where the Crow’s held their records. The consensus? It was a fool’s errand, a suicide risk. They were left with only one option. The front door.

Varric and Isabela both had vehemently protested. Deception and stealth were their specialties, their talents demanding them to search for a hidden door, a secret wall, anything. Alistair and Liviana had just shrugged. The gladiator was used to impossible odds, and from what she could tell, the king preferred to act as a human battering ram. 

“I still think that if I just tell them who I am, they might let me in,” Alistair eyed the pair of men standing watch.

“I don’t think-” Varric began.

“No, let him,” Isabela cut in. “I want to see this.”

“And we’ll be waiting to mop up after that plan goes horribly awry,” Liviana added as she slipped behind a portion of wall, her shortbow dangling from one hand.

“It might not go awry,” Isabela settled into the bed of a wagon that left her a clear vantage of the door.

“When do things not?” Sighing, Varric jumped atop a stack of crates, fiddling with a bolt he pulled out of his quiver. “I’ll take the high ground.”

Keeping her body pressed against the wall and her breaths quiet and deep, Liviana watched and waited.

“My name is Alistair Theirin and I’m the King of Ferelden,” she heard him call out to the guards. “Son of Maric the Savior? No? I guess they were right then.”

A giggle threatened to break free but Liviana managed to stifle it in time. “He really just did that,” she grinned as she leapt from her hiding place, both swords bared, and vaulted towards the king. Boots rhythmically thudding against the stones indicated that more soldiers were on their way. Alistair was no sheltered noble, that much had been evident the moment she met the man. But neither had she expected this level of prowess from the monarch either. He wielded his sword like it was an extension of his arm, his parries and thrusts coming as naturally to him as breathing. Every move of his was forceful yet precise and Liviana found herself admiring the natural grace of the man, as well as comparing it to a certain templar she found herself missing all of a sudden.

_It makes sense they fight the same. They’re both Ferelden born and templar trained. Same height and similar build, too. Although I think Cullen is a bit slimmer in the hips. Why am I studying the king’s hips?_

“Are they all dead?” Alistair surveyed the bodies that littered the street. “I didn’t mean for us to kill them all.”

“You gave them your name,” Liviana stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “What ever happened to, this mission must be conducted with the utmost secrecy? No one can know I’m in Antiva? Oh hello, my name is Alistair Theirin, king of Ferelden?”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, glaring at Isabela, who was pointedly coughing into her hand to hide her grin. “Let’s get this over with-”

“Is that his commanding voice?”

“I’m sure it works if you’re from Ferelden.”

“-Before the Crows find us raiding their archive?”

Varric made quick work of the locks on the front door, holding one hand up to keep the others back as they walked inside. “Traps,” he muttered. Trying not to gape, Liviana watched in silent amazement as the dwarf disassembled the myriads of devices that had been set into the building to guard it against intruders- tripwires, hidden projectiles, poison gas, even a fire fountain that was designed to destroy the documents, and any unfortunate souls, along with it.

“Damn,” she whistled as the rumbling died down. “None of those looked particularly fun.”

Inspecting shelf after shelf, scrolls clattered to the ground as Alistair read and summarily discarded each one, his face the picture of focus and concentration. Liviana glanced around. She didn’t like this. It was too quiet. For a building that had so many protections embedded within the stones themselves, there should be more guards. Unless-

“Halt!”

There it was. A blinding light flooded the chamber as more guards crowded the balcony above. “Found all the traps but missed the alarm,” a richly dressed man sneered down at them.

“Ugh,” Isabela groaned from off to the side. “Of all the- Hello, Claudio.”

“Isabela?” The man’s handsome face melted into a haughty smile that made Liviana want to punch him. Straight through his skull. “If you’re this desperate for coin, I’m sure I can find you an alley somewhere.”

“Claudio? Claudio Valisti?” Alistair stepped up. 

“King Alistair?” Claudio’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Maladición! I wasn’t expecting you to come personally.”

“I had to know it was real.”

The men’s muttered voices faded into the background, all but forgotten as Liviana’s gaze fixed upon the other man that had appeared with Claudio. An older man, old enough to be her father and then some, yet still tall and strong and proud. With the most striking eyes of emerald green.

“Lord Montalto?” she hedged, taking a tentative step forward.

“Sí?” The older man glanced down at her, his brows knitting together as he studied her. “May I- You look… familiar.”

“Lord Benicio Montalto?” Liviana dared not breathe. “Brother of Marisol Trevelyan?”

“Yes, I- No,” he gasped. Jerking his hands off the balcony railing as if scorched, Lord Montalto raced down the stairs towards the stricken woman, scooping up her hands in his own calloused palms. “Do not tell me you are…”

“Evelyn,” she whispered. 

“You know this man?” Varric asked.

“He’s my uncle.” Transfixed, she found that she did not even know how to blink anymore. “My mother’s brother. I was staying with him, and my Tía Marguerida when I…”

“What happened to you, querida?” Reaching out with a trembling hand, he gently caressed her cheek. “We thought you dead. There was a trail, but the heavy rains washed it away before we had a chance to follow it.”

“Tevinter happened,” she spat bitterly. “Tevinter slavers.”

“Ah,” he nodded, his face darkening by a few shades. “And your former master, he is dead?”

“Yes. But his brother hunts me in his stead.”

“Give me his name, querida. I will ensure he will trouble you no longer.” Gone was the sweet old man who had rejoiced just seconds ago to see his long-lost niece return from the dead, replaced by the cold, cutting guildmaster of House Montalto.

“Magister Volesus Atropos.”

“Ah,” Claudio interrupted with a clap of his hands, “A reunion. How touching. I apologize, Lord Benicio, but we must go, with all haste.”

“Yes, of course,” Montalto gruffly nodded. “Evelyn. I will look into this magister for you. Have you told your parents of your survival? No? Well, I cannot guess as to your reasons why, but I will keep your secret for now. If you ever have need of me, or a place to stay, my home is always open to you, mi hija. Send me a letter when all of this is over, yes? I wish to hear more about what happened to you.”

“Gracias, Tío Beni,” leaning forward, Liviana pressed the customary kiss to his weathered cheek. “I will.”

“Come on,” Isabela tugged on her sleeve. “I know a place where we can go.”

Her mind still frozen in shock, Liviana obediently followed the others back out into the streets, keeping her hood up and head down. She had met her uncle. Having only spent a few weeks in his company, and most of that with him gone from the estate, her memory was hazy but she did recall a few things about the man. He had doted on her, the only girl of the family, the child of his favorite sister, showering her with all sorts of things upon her arrival. Fancy new gowns, several gorgeous dolls with real hair for her to play with, and of course, a set of ivory daggers that he spent several evenings showing her how to use. A skill that saved her, or doomed her, depending on which way she looked at it.

“I wouldn’t have expected your uncle to be a slave owner,” Alistair commented off-handedly as they hurried down the streets.

“A what?” Her head flew up. “He’s not. He’s a guildmaster of the Crows.”

Glancing back at her, Alistair chewed on his lip for a moment. “You… don’t know how the Crows recruit their people, do you?”

“I…” No, it couldn’t be. She could not be related to man who bought and owned slaves. It just wasn’t possible. And especially not a man such as Benicio, who had laughed and played so gently with her as a child. _He can’t, he can't-_ “He can’t.”

Varric’s hand squeezed her arm, leveling a dark scowl towards the king. “Come on, Firefly. Now’s not the time." 

Leading her into a door, with a sign that read ‘The Perfumed Spring’ flapping against the doorframe above, Varric steered the silent gladiator towards an empty table in the back while Isabela signaled for drinks. Thick tendrils of heady smoke spiraled out of brightly painted hookahs, filling the room with sweet spices, while scantily clad women and men alike roamed the floor. She barely noticed. 

“Firefly, you good?” 

Liviana shook her head to clear it of the darkening miasma she felt closing in around her. “I’m fine,” she responded in a clipped, curt tone. Varric was right. This was not the time. She had a job to do, and that job did not allow time for her to have yet another crisis. “So did you find what you were looking for?” 

“I did,” Alistair slowly nodded. “Claudio sent me information a while back. I had to know it was real. And the records I found verify that he was right.” 

“Alistair,” Isabela leaned in, her dark brown eyes blazing in the dim light. “Claudio is a pestilent snake. I knew him when he was my husband’s business partner. Whatever he told you, whatever he’s done for you-” 

“I know.” Shoving away from the table, Alistair strode towards the open window with heavy steps. 

Sighing, Varric leaned back against the wall, one hand playing with the tassels on his cushion. “What was that about a Velabanchel Claudio mentioned?”

“It’s the Crow prison,” Alistair paced a narrow path. “Makes the archive seem as welcoming as a brothel.” 

“No one’s ever escaped and lived to tell,” Isabela added helpfully. 

“So obviously we’re going?” Liviana’s fingers itched to kill something. 

“Tonight. I’m breaking in. Come if you want,” Alistair pulled his hood up over his face. “But I’m going now.” 

“Wait!” Isabela yelped. “Shouldn’t we like, canvas the place, or find a good way in, or ah shit, he’s already leaving.” 

As it turned out, getting in was the easy part. The pirate captain elected to swim from the mainland to the island in order to scale the cliff face and sneak up on the gate guards from behind in an impressive feat of strength and endurance that hand Liviana seeing her friend in an entirely new light. But once Varric managed to open the gate… 

All hell broke loose. 

“You know where you’re going?” Varric stared at the soldiers, all on a rampage and headed directly for them, led by the biggest Qunari he had ever seen. And he had seen a shitload of Qunari. 

“I do,” Alistair nodded. 

“Then go,” the dwarf took aim. “We’ve got this back.” 

“Sure, Varric, I’d love to die in a Crow prison stampede,” Liviana replied sarcastically as the king ran off, rushing to meet the attackers with a sharp cry. 

“You know good as I do we’re not dying here today,” he grinned as he fired off another volley. 

“So… new plan?” Isabela squeaked as even more men poured into the courtyard, bringing the number up to at least three dozen, their shouts combined with the prisoners’ screams rattling the stones straight down to the foundation. 

“New plan,” Varric nodded. “Run!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wondered why a flock of crows is called a murder. According to Google, you can also use horde, parcel, muster, and hover. BEWARE THE HORDE OF CROWS.
> 
> Anyways. Just ignore me. New chapter. Woo!


	32. Amongst the Vipers

“I’m still finding moss and mud in the strangest places,” Isabela complained as she smacked her boot against the railing of her ship, grimacing as a clump of something fell with a splat onto the deck.

“Probably not your first time though, right?” Easily rolling to the side, Liviana narrowly missed the leather projectile that had been aimed for her head with a laugh.

“I’ll have you know I haven’t had sex in a swamp in… at least 8 years,” she retorted.

Faintly chuckling, Liviana turned her head back to the ocean, her eyes gazing at the distant horizon, trying to ignore the hammering of her heart. The wood creaked under her fingers, the knuckles of her hands fading to white with the force of her grip.

She was scared.

Their suicide mission to Velabanchel had been a moderate success, in that everyone had gotten out alive, along with the prisoner they had rescued, but… It was not who Alistair had been hoping for.

Maric, he told them, his father and the former King of Ferelden. That’s what the Crow records showed him, that the king had been taken prisoner by the notorious assassins and locked away. But the cell Alistair had sought held another man, a withered husk who had not seen the sun in decades, who barely remembered who he had been before he was just another prisoner who didn’t know he was already dead. He recognized Alistair, though. And remembered Maric. And Yavana, the Beast of the Tellari Swamps, the witch who had stolen the king away.

The trip to the Tellari Swamps in western Antiva had been doomed from the start. Not a single soul from the nearby villages offered to be their guide, no matter how much gold the king of Ferelden offered, only muttering curses and prayers alike under their breath when they learned of the group’s destination. And they soon found out why.

Dragons.

Alistair later mentioned he had fought and killed three high dragons before, but none had been like this one. Scales glinting iridescent purple in the filtered light that reached the swamp floor through the thick canopy above, claws longer than Liviana herself stood tall, and that screech, oh Maker. Never before had she felt such complete and utter, mind-numbing terror like the sort that had flooded her senses and rendered her paralyzed. She barely remembered how to fight back, her limbs utterly useless and dangling by her side as the massive creature, its head rising above the treetops, pounced and snapped at them.

It belonged to the Beast of the Tellari Swamp, as much as a dragon could belong to anyone. Yavana had stilled the beast and offered Alistair barely an answer; his father, Maric, had indeed come to the ancient Tevinter ruin she called the Silent Grove after his departure from Velabanchel, but she would offer no more. In frustration, they had left.

And almost instantly were attacked by Claudio Valisti and his men, who had long sought the location of the Silent Grove as well as the king of Ferelden. Isabela and Liviana both had been injured in the ensuing chaos, and Alistair had willingly, despite his companions’ protests, gone with Claudio in exchange for their lives.

Staggering back down the path, blood seeping from their skin and poison creeping through their veins, Varric had gotten the two wounded women back to the Silent Grove, whereupon by some miracle, Yavana had deigned to heal them so that they could retrieve Alistair. Claudio and his men never saw them coming. And from Claudio’s dead lips, Yavana pulled a name.

Aurelian Titus.

The Tevinter Imperium. Maker, she never thought she’d go back there, at least, not willingly.

Varric had used the name they had been given, and sent word to a friend he said he had in Tevinter. Liviana did not like the sound of that, but her dwarven associate assured her that his contact was not like the rest, that she was a good magister, of all the ludicrous things. But this magister had given a hint that Aurelian Titus would be in Qarinus soon, attending a nameday fete for another of his colleagues. A party that Alistair and the others were intent upon crashing.

“You okay, Firefly?”

“Yeah,” she blew out a huff of air. “It’s just… Tevinter, you know?”

“You know none of us will let anything happen to you,” Varric stopped beside her, one hand gently patting her arm.

“Never know. Alistair might decide to sacrifice himself for us again, and then I’ll die trying to hit him over the head.”

“Hey! It was a good, noble plan, thank you very much,” the king grumbled from a few paces away. “It was either that, or watch you both die from whatever poison they laced their blades with.”

Grinning down at the man, Liviana cocked her head to one side. “And I thanked you for it. Also, don’t do it again.”

“Seriously,” Isabela scoffed and rolled her eyes. “If you die, how will we get our money?”

“Maker save me from pirates and mercenaries,” he sighed. One thumb ran over a small vial of glowing blue. The lyrium that they had picked up from Llomerryn just the other week right after they left Antiva slowly sloshed against the glass as he held it up before his face, spinning it around. "You know, I knew Yavana's sister. Morrigan. Lovely woman. Could turn into a giant spider."

"That's... ugh," Isabela grimaced.

"Pretty much the same reaction I had," the king chuckled. "She was powerful, I'll give her that. And she saved my life, and Elissa's. But sometimes, I wonder. If the price we paid for our lives was too high."

"What do you mean?" Liviana asked.

"...Nothing," Alistair sighed. "Just thinking out loud. Never trust one of Flemeth's daughters, by the way. They'll all turn you into toads at first chance. Swooping toads. Not a fun fate."

It would take just over a month to reach Qarinus. Already, her promise to Cullen that she would only be gone for a little while was broken. Liviana chafed at that; for someone such as she, all she had was her word. True, it was not her fault that the lapse had occurred but still… He would worry about her. Why, she wasn’t quite sure. _Because he’s like an ornery mother hen, that’s why._

Liviana spent most of her time on board reading, playing dice and cards with the crew, or sparring with Isabela, or Alistair when he wasn’t meditating. His templar skills were rusty, he complained, and while the small doses of lyrium would help to boost his abilities against whatever mages they might encounter, he still needed time to train. Luckily, time was all they had.

There was a certain peace she found here in the middle of the ocean, despite the lack of work. Her limbs tangled up in the rigging, her body perched high above the deck, she could see for leagues. The coast was just a smudge of shadows off the port side of the ship, and to the starboard, there was nothing but water and sky and the wind in her hair.

 _Maybe this is what I should have been doing all along. Maybe after I get back, and see Max and Cullen, I’ll go back out with Isabela._ After all, what was there really to do back in Kirkwall? Cullen didn’t need her, not really, and Hawke was busy with helping the reconstruction, which was progressing nicely. Her friends may have been in the city, but her purpose was not. If she even had a purpose. Did it matter so much?

“Quit ogling the sky and finishing fixing that rigging!” Isabela’s bellow echoed up from below. Smirking, Liviana took the length of rope off her belt and began splicing it apart. The pirate had changed out here as well. The flighty, mischievous woman had morphed into a figure of command, strong-willed, and oh so capable that even Alistair was impressed. Liviana liked this side of her friend.

Giving a tug to the rope, satisfied that the new piece was securely in place, Liviana clambered back down the rigging, landing next to Varric with a hollow thud. “I don’t know how you can go all the way up there,” he shivered. “I mean, I’m not stonebound like the rest of the dwarves, but I still prefer solid ground under my feet.”

“It’s amazing,” her eyes shined in the bright sunlight. “All that open space, and air, and-”

“I get it, I get it,” he chuckled. “So, is the pirate life calling you?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “After we get through this mess, I’ll see how I feel.”

“This mess,” sighing, he glanced off to the side, eyeing the shoreline. It was just another week before they entered the Nocen Sea, and then, Qarinus. “You sure you up for this Firefly? No one would blame you if you just stayed on the ship.”

“I’m sure,” Liviana gave a curt nod. “I promised His Majesty my blade. And you know how I feel about breaking promises.”

“I just hope whatever he finds is worth all this,” he grumbled.

“If it isn’t, the gold should be.”

***

The stiff jacquard collar scratched against her neck. Hooking one finger over it, she tugged it away from her aggravated skin, grimacing at the slick sweat that coated every inch of her.

“Stop fidgeting,” Isabela hissed. Liviana just glared back.

Everything about this place set her on edge. The towering buildings of pale sandstone, the sweltering heat that lingered into late autumn, the miserable elves who trailed with drooping ears behind their owners, the jagged robes, the tingle of magic that permeated the very air- everything. And the fact that she wore no armor, and only a single sword plus a few strategically placed daggers just exacerbated her anxiety. It wouldn’t have been appropriate, and would have raised far too many questions if she had arrived fully equipped, not to mention that people were decidedly more likely to recognize her if she had been clad in her normal leathers. No one would expect Liviana, former Victorem and gladiator, to be waltzing into a party for the elite of Qarinus, dressed in a smart fitted embroidered jacket, perfectly tailored to her trim frame. Alistair, of all people, had offered to style her hair, pinning it up in a waterfall of waves that trailed down her back. He did this for his wife sometimes, he admitted with a sheepish smile, a holdover from when they had no servants and just each other during the Blight.

Slipping her hand through the crook of Alistair’s arm, Liviana took a deep breath. She could do this. After all, she had escaped from this viper pit once before. Now, with her friends, it would be a piece of cake. 

_Just have to remember to breathe._

“Alistair,” Varric beckoned the pair over towards where he stood with a pretty woman with short curls of blonde- just a shade lighter than Cullen’s. “Allow me to present Maevaris Tilani, widow to my late cousin Thorold.”

Liviana barely heard what was said in response- something vaguely embarrassing, judging by how Alistair’s ears burned. A familiar shadow flitted across the periphery of her vision. Narrowing her eyes at a spot near the long table to her left, heavily laden with delicacies of every sort, she searched for what had set her off. _No one. You’re just jumping at ghosts now, Liv. Focus._

“When I told Lord Devon you would be here, he absolutely lit up.”

Most people wouldn’t have noticed the tic on Isabela’s face, but Liviana had known the woman long enough to notice her disgust at the name. Her lips curled up into a sneer as a elegant dark-haired man approached, and swept them all a bow. Isabela’s eyes flicked to Liviana’s for the barest second, something akin to an apology written behind her guarded expression. _For what?_

Keeping her pace steady, Liviana walked between Alistair and Varric and the magister to her front, and Isabela and Lord Devon to her back, catching snippets of both conversations. 

“Aurelian Titus will be here soon, along with every other magister in the city. Why are you interested?”

“Mostly a personal grudge.”

“Thank you, Varric.”

“Maybe we can catch up after this. You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’m imagining you as a legless cockroach, rolling in your filth and waiting to die.”

“I couldn’t find anything on Titus. He doesn’t own any lands or have any family, just a reputation for power… And for knowing things no one else does.”

“You owe me, Isabela! How would you like it if I told the King about what happened to us in the Venefication Sea?”

Something in Devon’s tone caught Liviana’s attention.

“What happened in the Venefication Sea?” Her gray eyes turned to pin the lord with her piercing stare, Isabela growling behind the man.

“ _Nothing_ , not a thing-”

“What do you do for a living, Lord Devon?” Liviana asked coolly.

“I procure slaves for the wealthy of the Imperium,” he glanced down at her, the smirk of a snake across his manicured face. She was vaguely surprised that he didn't slither and hiss. “If you have a need, I have some excellent flesh in stock you could browse.”

It was like getting hit in the gut by that dragon tail all over again. Liviana could not have been more shocked had Isabela slapped her in front of everyone. Her Iz? Her friend, used to run with this scum? A slave trader? Judging by the way the pirate refused to meet her eyes, it was true. _Focus. This isn’t the time._

“Fascinating,” was all she said, and spun away.

“Liv, wait- It was a long time ago, and-”

“We have a job to do, Captain,” Liviana spat. And this magister that Varric was friends with, openly flirting with Alistair who oscillated between giggling like a schoolboy and attempting his own form of suave banter, she was friends with this Devon as well? “Varric,” she muttered in a low voice as she approached the group. “Does your friend have slaves?”

Maevaris overheard. “Everyone has slaves in Tevinter, darling,” she drawled.

Varric winced in guilt as he watched the scenes of horror and betrayal play across Liviana’s face. He knew he should have insisted more vehemently that she wait on the ship. There were too many blurred lines here, overlapping and tangled up into the convoluted mess that was Tevinter. Firefly was a smart woman though. She would understand, wouldn’t she? They had needed Mae’s insight and connections to get them here, to Titus. That was the job.

 _Isabela worked with a slave trader. Doing what, running cargo for him? Varric is friends with a magister who owns slaves. Are any of these people, these friends of mine, who I thought they were? They both helped, when we fought against slavers. I thought their viewpoints were clear on the matter. But this- this is-_ It was a knife to the gut, twisting and dragging and burning through her innards, leaving her bleeding and splayed open across the floor. Gripping her fists tighter, Liviana jerked away from the group.

“Liv,” she heard Isabela call. “I-”

“Kaffas,” Maevaris interrupted them. “He’s early. That’s Titus.”

Instantly, Liviana summoned up the void of calm within her center, the old technique she had used before her bouts to clear her mind and soothe her nerves. She needed to focus, dammit. Alistair was why she was here. Keep the king safe, help him find the truth. Then, she was gone.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

“Spread out,” Alistair muttered. “And be ready.”

Every sense she possessed tingled with danger as she swiftly moved into place, choosing a spot far on the opposite side of the room, away from the others. She could not afford to get sidetracked here, not even in a lesser place like Qarinus.

“Aurelian Titus. You tried hard enough to get your hands on me. Pity your weren’t as lucky as you were with my father,” Alistair’s voice just barely reached her where she stood.

“Ah. Tainted Scion of Calenhad, King of Ferelden,” Titus’ sparkling white teeth flashed as he grinned wickedly. “Welcome to Tevinter.”

“What happened to Maric?” Alistair snarled.

Liviana’s muscles went as taut as a bowstring as she felt the magister gather his mana, darker and more turbulent than anything she had ever felt before. Rubbing the sweat on her hands off onto her leggings, she curled her fingers around her sword hilt. And flinched, just as a fierce, blinding white light exploded from the king’s hands, shattering the spell that Titus had been forming.

“What-” he gasped. “He’s a templar! Seize him!”

All around, chaos exploded. Torn between chasing after Aurelian Titus and protecting Alistair, Liviana cursed as she turned back to the meleé. Too many men were holding down the king, and they would not have him, not if she had any say in the matter. Snatching up a fallen sword from the ground, she barreled straight into the thick of the fray, her blades easily rending silk from skin and muscle from bone. 

“We need to keep one alive,” Alistair shouted. Right, she could do that. Scanning what attackers she could, Liviana sprinted off after a single man who was running for the door, ducking a bolt from Maevaris’ staff with ease, and slipping past Isabela who was chasing after Devon. She palmed a knife from her boot, and threw. Right into the minion’s hamstring. “Got you,” she spat. Easily knocking him unconscious with her fist, she glanced up just in time to see Isabel save Devon… and then kill him herself.

“What was that for?”

“He deserved it,” Isabela grumbled. “A thousand times over.”

“Halt!”

Both women paled as they whirled around. There, across the room, was Alistair. With a dagger to his throat. Held by…

“Volesus,” Liviana gasped. The ground fell out from beneath her and the world stopped spinning.

“Give me the word to shoot Firefly, and I will,” Varric held Bianca aloft, his eye trained on the magister.

“Too risky,” she murmured, watching a thin drop of blood trickle down the king’s neck. Raising her voice, willing herself not to tremble or scream, Liviana called out, “What do you want, Magister Volesus?”

“Isn’t that obvious, my dear?” The man, tall, with a physique that had many admirers for its strength and tone and a handsome face that hid the demon within, smiled. “I want what is mine.”

“Me.” She should have realized. Upon Varinius’ death, all his property and possessions would have passed to his next of kin. Which included her. “You would kill the king and start a war just to get to me?”

“No,” he chuckled. “You’re not worth that much. And my master desires him alive. Your friends, however. No one would miss them much.”

Livana felt her heart crumble out from inside her chest. Almost afraid to look, she slowly turned. A sword aimed at each neck, hovering a breath away from the vulnerable skin. Isabela and Varric both stared at her with wide eyes. “Don’t,” Isabela choked out. “Liv, _don’t_ -”

“Firefly, you can’t-”

“Fine.” An eerie calm descended over her, a cloud full of nothing. Stripping off her coat, exposing the brand upon her back that marked her property of Ludus Atropos, she threw the fine fabric to the ground, her daggers landing with a muffled clang atop each other. Her necklace… One hand reached up to untie the thong with its halla pendant and signet ring. With a soft exhale, she let the necklace clatter onto the marble floor. Shouldn’t she feel something? Fear, hate, trepidation, anything besides this empty void that threatened to consume her soul? “Let them go.”

With a flourish, Volesus released Alistair… and then bashed him over the head. The king crumpled to the floor, followed by three more thuds. “Can’t have them following us and your king’s templar abilities are most inconvenient,” he smirked at her. “Now. Grab the king and the girl, and let’s go.”

“Guards are just outside, dominus,” one of the men called.

“Kaffas,” Volesus swore, his eyes narrowing at Liviana. “We don’t have time to carry his dead weight. Just grab her. I’m sure the king will come to us of his own accord.”

Nothing mattered anyways. Willingly, she let herself be dragged along, offering not even a token of resistance. Alistair was safe with the others. Varric and Isabela were not who she thought they were. Sebastian had left her. Who else had she trusted at her back? Who was Hawke? What secrets did Cullen hold? Max? It was pure folly on her part, to think she could have something as normal as friendship.

Fitting, to have reached this revelation when she was back in this place of betrayal and vermin and demons. Releasing the last of her emotions in a single tear, Liviana gave way to a broken sob, and embraced the void that swallowed her whole. It was all over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O


	33. Dreams or Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: Vague descriptions of torture and rape. If you want to avoid the worst of those parts, don't read the first section before the ***, or the second paragraph after the second *** (after Isabela's POV ends). It's nothing too graphic, but it's still there and I don't want to cause anyone harm. Take care of yourselves, always. <3

Time ceased to make sense. Days blurred into nights, the shadows on her cell following the same played out routine over and over as the days passed into weeks that stretched into forever. It became clear that Volesus wanted her, not to make use of any of her extended talents or skill, but as an outlet for the rage and humiliation he had suffered for her actions. The brother of a magister, laid low and murdered because of a filthy slave who dared escape justice, and he was the one who bore the brunt of the Magisterium’s gossip.

Volesus was not weak. He would prove it.

Her little shrieks and whimpers were like birdsong to him, the acrid smell of her burning flesh and the coppery tang of blood the sweetest aroma he could imagine. And every morning, he would heal the effects of the previous day’s session, and start anew.

Curious, though, how she did not fight him. Varinius did well training this one. Her glassy gaze were disjointed, vacant, focused upon nothing as he worked her, the noises he drew from her throat so rare and far between but oh so very treasured. Still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted her to beg, to grovel at his feet, to look upon him with that delicious terror in her eyes- 

But there was nothing. It was as if she were already broken. But that would be impossible. After all, she had been used to living free and wild, beholden to no one but herself, and now she was back in manacles and chained to a wall. She should be furious, lashing out, something, anything.

Nothing.

 _Tch. I will have to think of something new for her._ After all, it was for her that he had risked his master’s ire. To capture the slave, and leave the king- Aurelian Titus had been most displeased. But Volesus knew. Her friends would come in a vain attempt to save her, and the blood of Calenhad, son of Maric with them. And then Titus would hold the power of the Dreamers of old, augmented by the blood of dragons, and Volesus would feast off the anguish of the people. And Liviana…

_Hmm. Perhaps I do not need to wait. Perhaps I can get inside that lovely mind now, and see what she fears the most. And bring her worst nightmares to life. And then, she will scream._

***

Isabela flexed her hands around the brass fittings of the spyglass, resisting the urge to stare at the horizon yet again, and failed. It was like a compulsion she could not fight. They were almost there. Ath Velanis, the island where Aurelian Titus was working his creepy Tevinter magic. The island where hopefully, Liviana was. If the woman wasn’t there… Well. Alistair had promised all his resources would be at their disposal so they could find her, but Isabela feared what would happen the longer they waited. It had already been months since they had left Tevinter, and been captured by the Qunari.

The weeks they had languished within a Qun fortress, Alistair and Varric were treated as respected guests, given rooms and food at regular intervals, while Isabela had been starved and beaten, partially for her previous crimes against the Qunari and partially for a name. Her real name. She raised the spyglass to her eye yet again. What did it matter who she was? Why did the name Isabela, given to her by her first captain, feel like it was three sizes too small all of a sudden? 

Submission. That was what the tamassran wanted from her. To submit to the Qun, like Isabela’s mother had so many years ago before she sold her daughter to an Antivan merchant. It would have been so much easier if she had. 

But also, so much less fun.

Either way, Isabela did not break easy. Others had tried before with much more colorful techniques. The tamassran was lucky to live. Why had she spared the woman again? _Mercy. Soft._ To prove that this was not who she was, just a mindless killer and a whore. All those slaves. Dumped like crates of apples into the sea. That was not who she was anymore.

It didn’t matter. Isabela had found an opening, and escaped to free her crew. Alistair had beaten the Arishok in single combat, and asked the Arishok for his help, of all things. And now two dreadnoughts accompanied them, filled to the brim with Qunari to aid them in their fight against Titus, with the Arishok himself aboard her ship. Even if their only job was only to hold back the bulk of the magister’s forces, it was still appreciated. She thought. To fight alongside these people left a sour taste in her mouth.

“Butchers,” she muttered as she lifted the spyglass yet again. “The whole lot of them.”

Yet what await them on Ath Velanis was so much worse than even the Qunari. A Tevinter dragon cult, rising from the filth. A cult that wanted the dragon’s blood that ran through the Theirin veins. Alistair’s veins. And Maric’s.

Isabela could only pray they would get there in time.

And that Liviana would forgive her.

***

A flash of blonde shifted out of the corner of her eye. It was the magister, Varric’s friend. The guards had dragged her in here several days ago, and chained her to the wall opposite Liviana’s cell. Retribution, she supposed, for daring to oppose Titus and helping to kill his men. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of that, that a magister would have risked everything to help them, so she didn’t.

Did not think about anything. Not the deep-seated aches in her bones, the way the fractures that had been healed still left a ghostly impression upon her nerves. Not the way her bones sounded when they had cracked, not the scent of her flesh burning under the arcs of lightning and tendrils of fire that spewed forth from the mages’ hands. Not the screams of the others in the cells that surrounded her. Not the way they forced themselves inside of her, using her for their own pleasure. She had lived through this before. She could do so again. As long as she didn’t think, or feel, or do anything besides exist, limp, pliant, obedient.

She could do this for-fucking-ever.

There were noises outside the hall. Different, from the usual hushed mutterers and sonorous chants she sometimes heard. It sounded like… Battle. Dragging her tongue across dry and cracked lips, Liviana almost dared a smile. _I hope they burn this entire fucking place to the ground._ How she would laugh as she went up in flames. She only hoped she could watch the flesh melt from Volesus’ bones.

Iron rattled against stone as she shifted against the wall, watching with idle interest as the pair of guards that were on patrol rushed to the entrance as they heard the others cry for help- 

And then fell where they stood, a single crossbolt embedded in each of their faces.

“Mae!” A dwarf sprinted inside. “Maker, what did they do to you?”

“I’m fine, Varric,” the magister smiled weakly. “Your friend, on the other hand…”

Whirling around to stared where the woman pointed, Varric’s eyes flew open. “Firefly! You’re here, thank the fucking stars. You look good kiddo.”

Liviana just blinked at him. This man, she felt like she knew him. Heard his words that he was speaking, knew that they meant something, but for the life of her, she could not figure out what.

“Varric,” Mae called out quietly as Varric worked to pick the lock on her cell. “They healed her every few days, but... I don’t think she’s there anymore.”

“Shit,” Varric mumbled, swinging the gate open. “Firefly? It’s me, Varric. You know who I am, right? Your favorite dwarf.” He could see it now. What he thought was dirt was actually dried blood crusted over her skin, covering her face and hands and feet, the plain tunic she wore a faint beige color, not the rusted brown he had initially thought. Dozens of new silvery scars criss crossed her arms and legs and wrists, and more were hidden underneath the pitiful burlap sack, of that he was sure. “What the hell did they do to you? I’m getting you out of here, alright, Firefly? Just gotta get these manacles off you.”

Vacantly, she watched as the iron bands fell away from her wrists, clattering to the stones. _Free…?_

“I’ll be right back, Firefly,” Varric knelt in front of her. “I’m going to go check up ahead, and I’ll be right back. I promise.”

_Promise…?_

His boot grinding in the dirt and dust, Varric shouldered his crossbow and hurried out of the cell, down to the next set of rooms where something else waited, something Liviana was unfamiliar with. An energy, that pulsed and rolled and writhed and _hungered_. It scared her, more than anything ever had before.

The dwarf’s swears echoed off the walls. Liviana heard the crack of shattering glass-

And the world went dark.

***

Her eyes flew open. 

Leaves gently swayed in the breeze overhead, a brilliant blue sky just beyond the tree canopy, Warm, dappled sunshine seeped into her limbs that were draped around her, carefully cushioned by the thick, springy grass underneath her. She felt… Serene. Peaceful. Content. It was such a nice day. She smiled as birds flew in tight circles around her, trilling a few sweet notes. Closing her eyes again, Liviana sighed happily to herself.

“There you are,” a smooth voice called out. She could hear his smile.

“Mm,” she hummed, opening one eye and squinting up. “Cullen?”

“Who else? I just had to see to some last minute things around the house.” A warm body dropped beside her, all solid, hard muscles and long limbs, his amber lit eyes almost glowing in the light. “I missed you,” Cullen propped himself up next to her and traced the lines of her jaw.

This… This wasn’t right. Why was Cullen here? She was- Biting her lip, Liviana realized she couldn’t remember where she was just before this, or what she had been doing. But did it matter? Especially with the way he was looking at her, like she was the sun and moons and Andraste all rolled into one. “I was only a few steps away,” she teased.

“Still too far,” Cullen protested. “Maker’s breath, but you are beautiful.”

Giggling despite the blush that rose to her cheeks, Liviana wrapped her arms around his neck as he leaned down to brush a kiss against her nose, trailing his lips over one soft cheek, and down to her lips, featherlight and sweet. “So are you,” she whispered.

“Come,” his groan was low and husky, sending the sharpest thrill down her spine and setting her core alight, “We should leave now, or we’re never going to get on the road. I have half a mind to drag you back inside as it is.”

“The grass is fairly comfortable, you know,” Liviana stroked his stubbled jaw.

“Temptress,” he growled. Rolling over on top of her, Cullen’s fingers dug into the side of her hip, pressing her into his hardened arousal, his lips claiming hers in a bruising kiss that was nothing like the gentle caress from a minute ago. She gasped at the wave of desire that rolled over her. It was so much more intense than anything she had ever experienced, and for the first time in her life, she wanted this, wanted him, wanted-

Wait. They were already together. She would have felt this before, wouldn’t she? Why was the sensation of his body against hers, without any armor to come between them, so foreign? How long had they been together? Why couldn’t she remember?

“Cullen,” she murmured into his mouth, her own hands restlessly moving against the firm expanse of his back. “Cullen, wait.”

“Of course, love,” he sighed as he pulled back. Maker, he was so beautiful. His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed, and his amber eyes had darkened with his lust and love-

_Love? He’s looking at me like… he loves me?_

Liviana forgot how to breath, the pit in her stomach expanding against her heart and lungs, tension coiled and-

The anxiety melted away as quickly as it had appeared as Cullen smiled down at her, one hand softly tucking a piece of errant hair behind her ear. Lowering his face, he pressed his forehead against hers and sighed, so warm and content, his breath sweet and slightly minty. “I love you,” he murmured.

And suddenly it was the most natural thing in the world to smile back at him, and reply, “I love you, too.”

Pushing up on her arms, Liviana took Cullen’s hand, letting him pull her up to stand with one swift, strong movement, resting her head on his chest. “We’re going to be late,” his laugh rumbled through her head.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Let’s go.”

He led her down the narrow path through the thick, verdant woods that hummed with the faint drone of bees into a small clearing where a modest house stood, nestled at the base of a towering cliff. A few hundred paces to the right, a crystal clear waterfall poured off the top of the mountain into a deep pool, flowing into a meandering stream that sparkled in the early morning sun until it disappeared into the woods. It was- “Beautiful,” she gasped.

“It really is,” Cullen agreed. “I’m so glad we picked this spot to live.”

Liviana glanced over at the man. His face was ruddy and full, no longer haunted by the demons of his past, the dark circles faded and his eyes bright. Pushing back his mess of blonde curls, he grinned at her. He looked so happy and carefree, lighter than she had ever seen him before. It was intoxicating.

A small shadow lurked in the back of her mind. When had he left the templars? What about the lyrium? What happened to Kirkwall, and the rest of her friends? Where was Max?

A soft nicker distracted her from her thoughts. It was a beautiful gray mare with white forlocks and impossibly large brown eyes, already saddled and laden with leather bags strapped to her back. “Is she mine?” Liviana whispered, hardly daring to approach the magnificent creature.

“Of course she is,” Cullen laughed. “Don’t you remember going to pick her out the other month? You saw her and instantly fell in love.”

Waiting for the memory to stir, Liviana frowned when nothing came to mind. Her recall was usually excellent, why couldn’t she remember something as momentous as buying her own horse? “Cullen,” gazing out through the woods, she stared as the greens and browns blurred and shifted at the edges, “Where are we?”

“Home, where else?” He smiled indulgently down at her.

“No,” she shook her head. “Where is home?”

“The Free Marches. We’re a few days north of Ostwick, love. What’s wrong?”

No. This was all wrong. There were no mountains this tall near Ostwick, none that looked like this, at least, all sharp with jagged peaks. The woods there were more sparse, with more pines and needles than leaves, not this thick, dense growth that surrounded their house. When had they gotten a house anyways? And horses? When had she fallen in love with Cullen? Why couldn’t she remember?

“Cat,” his hands clutched her trembling shoulders with a firm grip, gently sliding over her back and drawing her in, rubbing circles in her skin to calm her heaving gasps, “You’re safe here. Don’t you remember? We left Kirkwall, together, years ago, and we came out here to be closer to your family. We’re on our way there now, remember? Max is waiting for you, and your parents. There’s no more fighting for us, love. Just you and me.”

“Just us,” she whispered into his shirt, her hands gripping the homespun fabric as if it were her lifeline and she, adrift at sea. “And you love me.”

“More than anything, Cat.”

Safe. Wanted. Protected. Burying her face into his chest, Liviana breathed until her shaking had subsided and the aching, tight pressure in her own chest had lessened. _He loves me. And I love him. Everything’s okay._

“Better now?” He peeked down at her.

“Better,” she smiled. “Let’s go.”

“Or else your mother will have my head if we’re late,” Cullen laughed, swinging one leg up in the saddle.

“She wouldn’t,” Liviana protested. “She adores you.”

“Thank the Maker,” he grinned.

Ignoring the shifting edges of the landscape, Liviana let her horse trot leisurely down the packed dirt road, enjoying the sounds of the wind rustling in the leaves and the chirping of birds. Beside her, Cullen talked of inconsequential things- his sister’s new baby and the trip they had planned to Ferelden, the harvest for that season, how he was losing the rigid muscle definition he was had.

“I don’t mind,” she winked over at him. “You look healthy. Besides,” she realized as she glanced down. “I’m getting soft, too.”

“I suppose there is nothing wrong with it. We’ve earned it, haven’t we?”

This time, she didn’t hesitate to nod. “Yes, we have.”

The trip to her parent’s estate took hours, or was it minutes? But this wasn’t the road to Ostwick. Instead of rolling green hills, the grass was fading to brown, the dirt crumbling to sand. Pale, vaulted walls rose from the trees around her and the plain tunic and soft breeches melted into ebony and crimson leathers, her unbound hair suddenly braided tightly and pinned to her head. The roar of the crowd shattered the birdsong.

_No._

“You’re up,” the Doctore grunted, giving her a light shove into the arena. Blood squelched under her boots as she strode in. And faltered, when she saw who was waiting for her.

“Cullen?”

The man trembled as he turned to face her, only armed with a paltry dagger that was gripped tightly in one hand, his knuckles bleeding white with the force. “Don’t do this, please, Cat,” he whispered.

“This is his punishment,” the Doctore called from behind her. “For disobeying his Knight-Commander. It’s your fault, you know. You gave him the idea to rebel.”

“I can’t fight him!” Liviana whirled around. Her breath caught in her throat, choking, swelling, stifling. 

“You’re not to fight him,” the hulking man grinned. “You’re to kill him.”

“No! Please, Cat, please, please,” Cullen cried out. 

“I-I-”

Something in his face switched. “Bitch,” his handsome features snarled into a rictus of hate. “This is your fault. I would have been fine without you. But you had to escape, you had develop a conscience. I hope my death weighs on you until you drown in remorse and the demons tear you into shreds. It’s your fault I’m here. Your fault Calliope died. Your fault Max died.”

“Max is alive,” she whimpered piteously. “He didn’t die.”

“But how long ‘til the demons get him?” Cullen taunted her. “How long until he ends up like every other mage? I should have made him Tranquil years ago.”

“No!” Liviana screamed. She lunged at him with both swords bared. “Shut up!”

His meagre dagger provided no defense against her incandescent rage and skill, honed on the edge of a blade, her emotions burning white-hot through her body. The memory of his embrace and tender caresses evaporated under the pain of his words and the memories they summoned, the guilt and terror and fury. “It’s not my fault,” she shrieked, swiping blindly at the man. “It’s not, it’s not, it’s-”

Blood. It was everywhere. All over her hands, soaking into the sand, and Cullen-

His dark amber eyes locked onto hers. Both hands curled around the sword hilt protruding from his belly. “Why… Cat?” Crumbling to the sand, his body fell still. Cullen was dead. And she had killed him.

Liviana fell to the ground with a dull thump, her other sword slipping from her hand. Broken. Defeated. _W-What have I done?_

“There she is! Liviana!”

“Is that- Cullen?”

“You know him, Alistair?”

“What’s Curly doing here?”

She barely looked up as the voices rushed at her. From the corner of her eye, she saw a door that had opened up out of thin air, and from it, several people came through. A few, she thought she knew.

“Shh, I”ve got you.” She gasped as bare arms wrapped around her. Cullen was somehow behind her, the sword now missing, his stomach whole and clean. “You’re safe with me. Remember, I love you, Cat.”

Throwing up one arm, Varric slowed the procession to a halt, stopping several paces away from where Liviana huddled into Cullen’s embrace. “Firefly, you remember Alistair, right? The King of Ferelden?”

“Why would I know the King of Ferelden?” She frowned at the tall man with the copper hair, her eyes darting from him to a blonde woman next to him in a green silk dress and back again. Did she know them? Maker, it was too much to think. Why was she covered in blood again?

“Livvy,” Isabela took a cautious step forward. “You need to remember. This place isn’t real. He’s not real.”

“Of course I’m real,” Cullen objected, pulling Liviana in closer to him. The stands were empty now, no sign of the crowd that had just screamed for his death. No sign of the Doctore. Was the Doctore even here? “What are you saying?”

“Remember, Liviana,” the pirate’s eyes were dark, pained shadows lingering behind the glassy surface. “Remember Aurelian Titus? Remember- Maker’s balls, don’t make me say it… Volesus?”

Liviana screamed as an arc of fire shot through her heart. Lurching forward, her body fell to the ground, her fists pounding into the dirt. _Volesus. The cell. The fire and the lightning and the- nononono-_

“She belongs here!” Cullen’s shout drifted to her through a thick haze. “Why do you seek to take her?”

“Because it’s not real,” Isabela’s voice broke. “Even if she wanted, as much as I wanted- It’s not.”

“I’m happy here,” Liviana whispered. Wasn’t she? She had been, back in that grove, riding down the grassy path with Cullen and her horse. Her very own horse. Why was there blood on her hands?

“Firefly,” crouching down next to her, Varric laid a gently hand on her shoulder, jerking it back as she flinched away. “You can be happy out there, too. And it’ll be so much better because it will be real and not just a dream in the Fade.”

No, she knew what awaited her out there. Pain, torment, nothing. But hadn’t she… Why was she in pain right now? Wasn’t she happy? “Please, I… I want to stay here. Don’t make me go back to that. Please, don’t make me.”

Whirling away, Isabela clamped a hand to her mouth to stifle her sob, Varric not faring much better as he furiously blinked his eyes and swallowed in an attempt to dissolve the knot that had suddenly stuck in his throat.

Moving from the side of a tall, gray-haired man that looked remarkably like him, Alistair knelt next to Liviana. “I was happy here, too. But Liviana, it’s not real. It won’t last. Believe me, I wish-” His voice cracked. “-I wish it could be real. But Titus is out there, and if we don’t stop him, real people will die. Besides. You promised to help me.”

She remembered that. Raising her head, she mutely nodded, and stood, the crimson and ebony armor she had worn the day she became Victorem she had been wearing melting away in favor of her nondescript leathers and swords, her braided crown falling down her back into a single plait. Not bothering to even look back at Cullen, she set her shoulders. “Who are you?”

“Maric Theirin,” the older man replied, offering his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young lady.”

“Your Majesty,” she nodded. _Fucking Fade. Fucking Tevinter. Fucking magisters and blood magic and Maker damned dragons-_ “Alright. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of sweet fluff, little bit of almost smut, little bit of extreme, heart wrenching angst. Check check check.
> 
> Extra chapter today because I can't make y'all wait any longer for this.


	34. Home

Her body was frozen. She wished she had her cloak. But the extra fabric would have just been cumbersome to climb in, so instead, she just perched among the rigging, her limbs tangled securely in the thick ropes,her body high above the ocean wearing only a woolen sweater and dense, cotton breeches. Comfortable enough. It wasn’t as if the icy ocean spray made much of a difference anyhow. Now, she was numb on the outside as well as the inside.

Winter was well on its way, the colder temperatures more pronounced the closer they drew to Ferelden. Isabela, no, the Captain, as she now named herself, had said they would reach Denerim tomorrow after months at sea. She and Varric had explained that they had been delayed by the Qunari, apologizing a thousand times that two dreadnoughts had overtaken and captured them as they chased Titus across the sea. But it had worked out in the end, hadn’t it? For without the Arishok’s support, they would not have stood a chance against Titus and his men.

Aurelian Titus was dead, destroyed alongside his goal of using the dragon blood of the Theirins to augment his somniari magic to control every person on Thedas through dreams. Maric Theirin had been to one to kill him. Fitting, since the old king had been held prisoner by the magister for all these years. The magrallen, some sort of ancient device that Varric had shot, of all things, had been keeping the old king alive, but now it all lay in pieces. Maric had died too, much to Alistair’s sorrow. But at least he had gotten to say goodbye to the father he never knew.

Volesus’ body was never found. Varric and Alistair assumed he had died with the rest, his body probably burned beyond recognition, but Liviana did not believe that, not without evidence of his rotting corpse. He was still out there somewhere. Waiting. For her. And next time, she would be ready.

The ropes under her sagged and shifted. Glancing down, Liviana recognized the figure climbing the rigging.

“Hey,” Isabela offered her an apple. Liviana took it without a word. She hadn’t talked much, since the rescue. She wasn’t sure what words were left to say. “Cold up here.” Liviana just took a bite out of the apple. Swinging her legs around, Isabela sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the crunch of the fruit. “Listen,” she said eventually. “I wanted to explain. About the Venefication Sea.” Liviana shook her head. “No, I need to say this. I- I made mistakes. A lot of them. I could say I was young, and naive, and ignorant, but that would just be an excuse.” A pause, and she sighed. Liviana noticed a healing scar that wrapped around her wrists, the sort that would come from being bound by ropes for a particularly long time.

“Life is messy,” Isabela murmured into the wind. “And sometimes people do shit things. But what matters is how you move forward. What you learn from making mistakes. Everyone deserves a second chance, Liv. Well, most everyone. Tevinter magisters don’t.” Liviana snorted at that. “If I could take back what I did, I would. In a heartbeat. I don’t regret many things in my life, but that…” Her eyes grew distant as she stared out across the rolling ocean waves. “I’m sorry.”

Hefting the apple core in her hand, Liviana leaned back in the rigging and flung it as hard as she could, watching with satisfaction as it sailed over the width of the deck and disappeared into the dark water. Reaching over, she laid her hand over Isabela’s scarred wrist.

“Naishe,” the Captain whispered. “Before I was Isabela, I was Naishe. I had forgotten…” Shaking her head, she cocked her chin up. “You don’t have to stay Liviana, you know.”

She knew. But it wasn’t as simple as picking a new name out of thin air. Liviana was too much to be, and Evelyn was so far away. And Catalina, well. That was reserved.

 _Cullen_. The magister, Maevaris Tilani, had explained that Titus had crafted the Fade of King Maric's dream where each of them were to give them their heart’s desire. Or their worst nightmare. She had had both. Varric had thought it unfair that they all saw Liviana’s dream, and she had not seen theirs, so he had told her a few days later in the privacy of her bunk. He said, rather simply, that he was with an old friend that he hadn’t seen in awhile, Isabela had joined the Qun, wishing to give up the consequences for her actions, Tilani had her dead husband back, and Alistair had a life with his father. But why did she have a life with Cullen? It made no sense. She wasn’t in love with the man, that was certain. Dreaming about killing him made more sense, if it was a nightmare. The dichotomy between the two scenes continued to baffle her. Why had it switched so suddenly, and then back again?

Perhaps... it was simply the desire to have a normal life. A family. No more fighting, no more wars, no more slavery. Just a little slice of land in the middle of nowhere, and someone to love her. An impossible dream.

“Maybe I should go by Firefly,” Liviana rasped, her voice reduced to a croak after weeks of disuse. 

“Maybe you should,” Isabela grinned with relief. “Why does Varric call you that anyways?”

Shrugging, Liviana rested her chin on the ropes. Who knew where Varric came up with his nicknames?

“Alistair said we’re welcome to stay a few days in the palace. I need to take the time to gather some cargo, then we’ll be off back to Kirkwall. I know Varric’s anxious to get back. We’ve been gone a lot longer than I expected,” Isabela mused.

Gazing down at the deck, watching as a group of sailors sat together, mending a sail, Liviana frowned. She had initially told Cullen she’d only be gone two, maybe three months. And now it had been the better part of a year. Was he worried about her? Or had he forgotten her completely? And Max… when was the last time she had written him? Before she left Kirkwall, that was certain.

Could she go back to Kirkwall, after everything?

“You’re shivering, Livvy,” Isabela tugged on her shirt. “Come on, let’s go down and get you out of this wind. You’re too delicate for Ferelden winters, you know.”

Liviana gave her a crooked smile. Too delicate, indeed.

Her feet hit the deck with a hollow thud as she landed, shaking the frost out of her hair. Heading down to the galley, she found a spare blanket and grabbed a steaming mug and a packet of herbs to make tea, and huddled down onto the floor in an empty corner, tucking her legs under her chin. Going back to Kirkwall wasn’t an option right now, nor was staying on the ship. She had accepted Isabela’s apology and reasoning, and she knew that the person the pirate was now would in no way condone slavery, yet… It still hurt.

And Varric had tried to explain the atmosphere of Tevinter, and what appearances his friend Maevaris had to keep up with in order to stay in the loop. Maevaris Tilani wanted to change the Imperium, for the better, but she was one person against an massive bastion of old blood and ancient titles. To an extent, Liviana understood. It didn’t make it any easier to palate, though. The woman still kept slaves, owned people, and Varric was friends with her.

The situation with Cullen confused her as well. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the tender way he had gazed down at her, feel the heat of his body against hers and the taste of his lips, the sensation of his blood on her hands. It was ridiculous. She was Liviana, gladiator and warrior and his friend. She did not need a man to make her feel safe, nor did she want to kill him. 

_But it was nice, wasn’t it? How Sebastian used to hold you, how you felt when Cullen wrapped his arms around you. Warmth. Safety. Home._

_Love_ , she scoffed at herself. It was a foolish notion, and she didn’t understand why it kept hanging around the back of her mind. Love like she wanted only existed in stories. Real life did not work like that.

“Hey,” Alistair smiled hesitantly as he walked in and spotted her. “Mind if I sit?” Liviana waved a hand. Fixing his own cup of tea, he added a generous dollop of honey and carefully settled himself down across from her, leaning against the wall with his long limbs crossed underneath himself. “So Varric has said he’ll stay in the palace while Isabela gathers merchandise for the return trip. Will you?” She nodded. “That’s good. Listen, I…” His head hit the wall as he inhaled a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. “I wanted to say thank you. For what you did. I know, this entire thing was my fault. If I hadn’t- you wouldn’t-”

“I chose to come,” Alistair jumped at the sound of her voice, clearly not expecting her talk after all these weeks. “I chose to accompany everyone, when I could have stayed on the ship. This isn’t your fault, Alistair. You found Maric, and laid him to rest. And we stopped Titus. It was worth it.”

“Was it?” he muttered with the barest trace of bitterness. “I suppose you’re right. We did save the world, didn’t we?”

“Should be old hat for you by now,” she smiled into her tea.

“Should be,” Alistair chuckled. “So what will you do now? Go back to Kirkwall?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she replied softly. “But no, I don’t think I’ll go back there for a bit.”

“I could use you, you know,” he glanced aside at her. “Your skills. There’s an opening in my honor guard if you want it. I’m sure Elissa would agree. No pressure to take it though. I just wanted you to know you have options.”

Liviana started in surprise, hissing as the scalding water sloshed over the brim of her cup and splashed onto her hand. “That’s very kind of you,” she shook the tea off her hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Nodding, he leaned back again. “I don’t know about you, but I’ll be glad to get off this ship. I feel like it’s been years since I saw my wife.”

“You miss her?” 

“Of course,” his smile was wistful, filled with longing. “I haven’t been away from her for longer than a few weeks since we married.”

“It must be nice, to be able to love the person you marry,” she remarked. Memories of her own parents, who were cordial, even fond of each other at best, flitted through her mind. “Most arranged marriages don’t end up in love.”

“Oh, it wasn’t an arranged marriage. Ours was a love match,” he replied. “Against the wishes of my advisors, but once you save the country, who can really tell you no? Elissa’s amazing though. I think she’ll like you.”

Humming noncommittally under her breath, Liviana considered him, listening as he lauded all the many virtues of his wife, his eyes sparkling with her memory. It was extremely rare for nobles to marry out of love, that much she knew. If she had stayed with her parents, they would have found a suitable match for her, based on reputation and wealth and good breeding. And the common folk she knew, who were more free to choose their own partners, often fell out of love within a few years of their vows, if they even made it that long. For Alistair to still love his wife, after almost a decade…

Maybe real love did exist.

*** 

Denerim was like no other city she had seen before. It was a far cry from the gleaming marble spires Val Royeaux or the elegant strength of Starkhaven, and as opposite as day and night from the rotting decadence of Minrathous. It reminded her of Ansburg. A farming village who had overgrown its bounds. The roads were plain dirt here, the houses plaster and wood, with chickens and children running wild in the frozen mud. 

Still, the people seemed happy enough, for the most part well-fed and dressed warmly to ward off the elements. Lowering her cloak hood, Liviana studied the city as she followed the king and the small complement of guards that had greeted them at the docks. This was no polished city of nobles, and she decided she preferred it that way. As pretty as Starkhaven and Val Royeaux were, she felt more at home in a place like this, with its rough, coarse edges and boisterous laughter and raucous shouts that filled the streets. _Maybe I should take Alistair’s offer and stay here. I could do worse than a king’s honor guard._

The palace itself was hewn from dark, solid stone, and would have been foreboding and grim had it not been for the people who inhabited it. Liviana was hard-pressed to hide her smile as the queen, a tall, auburn-haired beauty, came racing out of the side gate they were sneaking in by, and threw herself in her husband’s arms, peppering a thousand kisses over his face, laughter and tears all bubbling forth at once.

A servant led her and Varric deeper into the palace, leaving the monarchs to their heartfelt reunion, and ushered them into private rooms where a steaming bath and a fresh set clothes awaited them both. It was, in a word, heaven. Liviana couldn’t remember the last time she had a proper, hot bath in a tub big enough to soak her entire body in, and she luxuriated in the fragrant, rose-scented waters until she grew cold and her skin shriveled.

“Mistress?” A petite elven woman bobbed a curtsy as she entered the room. “I’ve come to help you dress for the supper tonight. There’s a selection of dresses, if you’d care to take a look.”

Fingering the elegant material, Liviana suddenly felt self-conscious. When had she last worn a dress? As a child? “I… Whatever you think suits me best. I’m really not sure.”

The woman lit up at being given free reign over the choices. “This one,” she pulled out a deep, forest green velvet dress. It was simply cut and barely adorned, save for a thin silver scroll along the hems and square-cut neckline. “I know it’s not fancy,” the servant blushed. “But the color would be perfect on you.”

“It’s just what I would have chosen.” It was awkward, for her to have help to dress and pin up her hair, but this was a palace, and Liviana did not want to do anything that might offend her royal hosts. Alistair, she knew, was complacent about many things, but she wasn’t sure how the famed Hero of Ferelden and Queen would react if she showed up at dinner with sloppy hair and in breeches.

As it turned out, Elissa Cousland was also not one to stand on ceremony, appearing in a dress even more plain than Liviana’s, with her reddish-brown tresses pulled back into a simple braid. “Hello,” her smile was bright as she gracefully floated over and took Liviana’s hand, familiar callouses grazing her own. “Thank you. For everything. I… Words cannot express how grateful I am for your help in keeping Alistair safe. I owe you debt I can never repay.”

“It was my honor, Your Majesty,” Liviana blushed under the queen’s intense gaze and ducked her head. 

“Elissa, please. After all, I owe you my heart now,” she smiled gently. “I’m sure you’re starving. I know we are.”

"We always are," Alistair chuckled.

Isabela came in then and greeted the queen with a familiarity that had both monarchs as red as a tomato in seconds flat, giggling as she took her own seat. As dinner was served, Varric began to tell the queen their tale with all the flourish and skill of his profession, and Liviana almost found the story entertaining, except for when he reached the part about Tevinter. Luckily, he had no words about the abuses she had suffered on Ath Velanis, and told the queen about their stay in the Qun fortress instead, and Alistair's valiant duel with the Arishok. She squirmed in her seat when he spun her capture as the noblest of sacrifices.

“Alistair gave up himself, too,” she muttered, much to the king’s amusement.

“Well, I knew they wanted me alive,” he pointed out. “You, on the other hand...”

“Face it, Firefly, you’re a hero,” Varric grinned.

“Andraste preserve me.”

“So,” Alistair glanced up during a lull in the conversation after the plates had been cleared away, a glass of brandy in his hand as he perched on the armrest of Elissa’s chair, his skin soaking up the heat from the hearth, “Have you thought about my offer?”

“I have,” Liviana nodded. “It is a kind offer, but I think… I should go back to Ostwick.”

“That is where your home is?” Elissa glanced up.

“That is where my family is,” she replied quietly. “I have not seen them in some time.”

“You need a ride?” Isabela asked.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, my offer stands,” Alistair added. “We would welcome you here.”

“Thank you,” Liviana inclined her head with a tiny, yet genuine smile.

Later that night, after she had bid goodnight to her hosts and friends and slipped into a nightdress of the softest wool she had ever felt, Liviana sat at the little writing desk, her fingers smoothing over the fine parchment before her. She needed to write Cullen, and Max, but the words to explain her delay and her recent adventures just would not come. What was she allowed to tell them, anyways? Alistair wished to keep his absence from the palace as covert as possible, but he knew that rumors of the battle that had been fought on Ath Velanis would soon circulate amongst society. Could she tell them of the horrors she had suffered via a letter? Dipping the tip of the quill into the dark ink, she began to write.

_Cullen,_

_I know I’ve been gone much longer than I said I would be. Things came up, and we got sidetracked. I don’t think I’m coming back to Kirkwall, at least for a little while. I’ve decided to go back to Ostwick, and see my parents. I’m not sure how they will react to my presence. I believe I have been gone too long, that I have changed too much, but… Also, I miss Max. I don’t expect you will write me back, but if you do, I’ll be at Bann Philip Trevelyan’s estate for as long as all parties involved can tolerate it._

_Your friend,_

_Liviana_

Fanning the ink on the parchment until it was dry, she sealed it into an envelope and gave it to a servant. _Vague, but succinct. He’d probably appreciate this more than a lengthy tale anyhow. Now just to write one to Max, and in a few days, I’ll be off. Back to Ostwick. Maker._

***

The docks were fairly empty this time of day and year, with only a few smaller sloops idling in the harbor. Hefting her leather satchel up onto her back, Liviana meandered up the wide path, approaching and passing through the first gate, only to be stopped at the second. _Two walls. I had forgotten Ostwick had two sets of walls._

“Purpose for arrival?” A bored guard eyed her.

“Visiting family,” she replied. After a cursory glance inside her bag, the guard waved her through. 

It was a simple matter to toss a nearby child a spare silver, in exchange for directions to the Trevelyan estate. Passing by the quaint, picturesque little cottages and shops that lined the main thoroughfare, Liviana headed deeper into the city, taking note of when the peeling painted walls morphed into pale granite and polished wood. Gradually, the houses grew grander and the clothes that adorned the passersby, finer, until the city proper fell away and she reached a broad avenue lined with massive oaks that provided ample shade for the carriages that rumbled down the cobbled pavement. It was as much as she remembered, although the trees seemed smaller now that she was grown. Shifting her pack to the other shoulder, she continued for another mile or so until she reached the last wrought iron gate. Rolling hills of the pale yellowish green of winter were just visible through the bars and past the tidy mansion, the painted cream walls covered with sprawling ivy.

A sentry eyed her. “Do you have business here, serah?”

Taking a deep breath, Liviana managed a nod, shifting her pack over on her back. “I have a message for Bann Trevelyan. Only for his ears,” she added as he opened his mouth. “It’s very important.”

“Right. Timmons,” the man jerked his chin down at her, motioning a second guard over. “Take her to his lordship. Make sure you mind your manners, girl.”

“Of course,” she held back her sigh. _Gutter rat. Even the guard sees it. I should turn around now, they probably don’t want to see me, and-_

“Percivale! Go get the bann, will you?” Timmons called to a passing servant.

“He was just in the stables,” the young lad replied, craning his neck back around towards an expansive set of low buildings to the eastern side of the yard. “I’ll- Oh! There he is! My lord!”

“Hmm?” An older man, with a thick head of black hair liberally peppered with gray and a full beard to match, glanced up at the shout. “What is it?”

“My lord,” Timmons stepped with a sharp salute. “This woman said she had a message for you.”

“Yes?” Bann Trevelyan’s head swiveled to find hers… and froze. “Maker have mercy,” he whispered, his eyes flying wide open. “Is that- Are you?”

“Um. Hello. I-” Liviana sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of his eyes, identical to her own. Everything she had planned to say, had rehearsed over and over in her head these last few weeks flew out of her grasp. That was her father standing there, close enough to touch, and Maker take her, why couldn’t she say anything? “I’m...”

“Philip, what is going on out here?” A dark haired woman, delicate and elegant, stepped out onto the sprawling veranda, silks the color of the deep ocean rustling with every movement. Her emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion at the dirty woman in front of her husband. “Who is this?”

“Evelyn,” Philip whispered, daring to take another step towards where Liviana still stood, rooted the ground, helpless and devoid of words. “My little girl, is that truly you?”

“What?” Lady Trevelyan gasped, and clattered in most unladylike manner down the rest of the stairs, tripping over the hems of her skirts as she raced to the pair. “Evelyn?!”

“Hello, mother,” Livana managed a weak smile.

Her mother instantly burst into tears and lurched forward with a shrill cry, sweeping her long-lost daughter up into a crushing embrace. “Oh, my darling girl! You’re alive, you’re alive. You’re home.”

_Home._

She liked the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. Somehow I have a 23 chapter buffer. I don't know how that happened XD so enjoy an update a day until I get back down to my usual 10.


	35. To Stay or Run

It was like stepping into a memory. Everything in her room was exactly as she had left it. Her mother tearfully explained that she hadn’t the heart to change it, so it had been locked up, with servants only allowed in every few months just to dust. Slowly, she circled the room, taking in the pale pink walls and the airy cream and gold curtains of gauze and silk that framed the windows, barely breathing as she examined the fragile dolls with their faded dresses and ribbons that still lined the shelves. Dust motes danced in the rays of sunlight that fell upon the plush rug, a slightly darker shade of pink of than the walls.

“We have so many questions,” Lady Trevelyan sniffed from the doorway. She hadn’t stopped crying since she laid eyes on her long-lost daughter, but that was to be expected. “But they can wait. I’m sure you want a bath, and a change of clothes. I'll have something sent up for you.”

“I have clothes with me, Mother,” Liviana managed a shaky smile.

“Of course,” she nodded, pressing a soaked handkerchief to her eyes. “But I’m sure those are terribly wrinkled from your journey. I’ll have something sent up, and when you’re ready, you can join us for tea and tell us everything. My sweet girl. This is truly a miracle from the Maker,” her voice quavered.

“Marisol,” a deeper voice called from behind her. “Let Evelyn get settled. She’s not going anywhere now, are you, dear?”

“No,” Liviana shook her head. “I- I’d like to stay for awhile, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” Lady Trevelyan beamed. “Oh, there’s so much to do. Do you still love apple tarts? I’ll have the cooks whip one up for supper tonight. And the winter squash and tomato soup, you used to love that so much. And-”

“Marisol.”

“Yes, Philip,” she sighed. “We’ll be waiting for you, Evelyn.”

Evelyn. It was so strange, to see her parents and hear her name from their lips. Dropping her pack into a corner of the room, Liviana watched as the servants bustled in and out of her room, filling the copper tub in the washroom to the brim with steaming water.

“My lady,” a servant entered bearing a thick, fluffy towel, and bobbed her a curtsy. Liviana winced at the address. “My name is Emilia. I’m to help you bathe.”

“Oh no,” Liviana protested. “I can do it myself, thank you.”

“I-” The woman blinked at her, her gaze flickering between the tub to her new charge and back again. “If you are sure…?”

“I’m quite sure,” Liviana replied firmly. Taking the towel from the stunned maid, she ushered her in the direction of the door. “Thank you.”

The temptation to have a long soak fled as her nerves increased by the minute. Scrubbing the salt from the sea and dirt from her skin and hair with the creamy little perfumed cake of soap that was definitely Orlesian, she rinsed and toweled off as fast as she was able. Someone else had left a carved bone comb on the little vanity, and Liviana pulled it through her wet locks while she glanced over the outfits that had been laid upon the bed, grimacing as she yanked the teeth through the tangles and snags.

 _Kaffas. I think I need help to get into this dress._ She eyed the pale blue taffeta gown and its myriads of laces and ties warily. _Maybe I can just wear my old things for now. I don’t think I can tolerate a corset._

Reaching into her bag, Liviana shook out the tunic and breeches that were rolled and stuffed down at the bottom. They were a bit wrinkled, true, but it wasn’t terrible. And there was no corset involved with this. _Plus, the dress looks like it’s Mother’s. I don’t think my shoulders would fit into the sleeves without ripping them._ For while it appeared that the two women were of similar height and stature, her mother was thin, almost frail, and she remembered how Max had said that their mother had taken her disappearance harshly. _I suppose losing both of your children in such a short amount of time would make any mother sick._ She loosely braided the rest of her hair back, and after a quick glance in the mirror, peeked out of her room. 

The rest of the house was also much as she remembered from the hazy memories of her youth. The stone halls were painted to be bright and airy, with many windows set into the walls to let in natural light. Fine mahogany furniture and brass sconces kept the atmosphere grounded and warm. Her boots whispered against the rug as she slowly stepped down the corridor, her eyes roving over every inch she could see. Was this home? With its expensive trappings, passed down from generation to generation? Or was home a threadbare blanket in a spartan cell, the sounds of screams echoing off the stones? Closing her eyes, she leaned against a wall.

Her time spent under Volesus still kept her up at nights and more than likely would for some time. There were immense gaps in her memory, for which she was grateful, but the imprint of the agony lingered in every new scar she bore. The steady drip of blood onto the floor, the sharp tang of lightning in her veins, the crackling of fire licking at her skin- she could feel it all every time she blinked.

_No, I’m safe here. He can’t reach me here, if he even knows where I am. I’ll be safe here. He can’t take me unless I let him._

_He will never take me again._

“Evelyn?” Her father’s head popped out of a room a few doors down. “There you are. Come, sit with us.”

“Evelyn,” her mother began to smile as she entered the room, her expression coming up slightly short at the sight of Liviana’s clothes. “Did you not like the dress I sent?”

“It didn’t fit,” she replied by way of explanation. “I know this is a bit wrinkled, but it’s all I have.”

“We’ll just have to get you brand new things, then,” the smile returned. “I can have the seamstress come by tomorrow.”

“Oh. That’s… very kind.” Gingerly sitting down in the chair across from her parents, Liviana gratefully accepted the cup of tea her father passed her.

“So tell us,” Philip took his own seat. “Where have you been all these years?”

Her head drifted to the side, towards where the fire roared in the hearth. Ostwick in winter was nowhere near as cold as Denerim, and even warmer than Kirkwall, but there was still a bite in the air. “Tevinter,” she murmured softly. “There were… slavers. They found me, that day I got lost in Antiva.”

Porcelain crashed to the ground and shattered into dozens of little shards, the tea seeping into the rug. “Marisol?” Her father leapt out of his chair and rushed to his trembling wife. “Are you alright?”

“Slavers?” Lady Trevelyan managed to choke out. “You were a- a-”

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Liviana frowned down at her hands. “I should-”

“No,” her mother cut in with considerable force, her hands clasped under her chin in an attempt to still them. “No. Please, tell us. I will endeavor to retain my composure.”

So, she told them a sanitized version of her life. Glossing over the more gruesome parts, sticking to the basic facts, she told them of her training, and of the victories she won for her ludus and dominus. How a vague incident had allowed her to escape. The numerous mercenary jobs she had taken since then. And Kirkwall…

“I tired of traveling, and decided to stay in Kirkwall for a spell. I… met Max, there. He said he would be able to visit here.”

“Of course,” Philip nodded. “I’ll send a request to the Circle first thing tomorrow.”

“Well. Well well well well. That is…” Marisol shook her head, one hand repetitively crumpling and smoothing the blanket spread over her lap. “That is all behind you now. You need never think of it again.”

Liviana bit her lip in an attempt to stifle her incredulous snort. Not think about it ever again? Being a slave had permeated every facet of her life, tainted her very soul and spirit. And her mother thought she could just brush off those years of violence and abuse? The scars Volesus had left were still fresh upon her mind and body.

Philip eyed his wife warily. “What your mother means, is you’re home now, and you’re safe with us. You can have the life you were always intended to live.”

“Yes, yes. Oh, there is so much to do. But first things first. You need clothes,” Marisol’s eyes gleamed at the prospect. “But don’t fret, I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to do a single thing, my darling.”

_Oh Maker, give me strength._

***

“Come in.”

Standing in front of her new full-length mirror, Liviana barely registered the sound of her door swinging open, assuming it was one of the servants.

“You look weird in a dress, you know that?”

Her head jerked up at the voice. “Max? You’re here!” Launching her silk clad form in the most ungainly manner possible into his arms, Liviana wrapped her arms around her brother and squeezed with all her strength. “Maker, am I glad to see you.”

“Took you long enough to get here,” he grinned. “I remember clearly stating that you needed to come soon, not a year later.”

She stiffened in his arms. “I didn’t mean to take so long,” her voice was muffled from where her face was buried in his chest. “I left Kirkwall almost a year ago on a job. It was only supposed to take a couple of months, but… things went wrong.”

Max pulled back, his eyes searching her face, taking note of the new scars along her chest, his hand tracing a small nick near her temple. She had forgotten about that one, received in the Tellari Swamps when an arrow grazed her skin. But the main difference was in her eyes. The light and mischief that had sparkled within her was conspicuously missing. “What happened?”

“I can’t talk about it,” she shook her head. “Not yet, at least.”

“Alright,” he nodded. “So, about this dress…”

Liviana snorted, and shoved him away. “I’ve worn dresses before.”

“Since you were a child?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes,” she retorted. “Well, once. At the palace in Denerim.”

“At the- Cat. When were you at the palace in Denerim? And why?” Max furrowed his brow, his jaw slipping open.

“I had dinner with King Alistair and Queen Elissa,” she smirked at him. “They’re lovely people.”

“Cat. _Why?_ ”

“Can’t say.”

“I hate you,” he pouted. “The dress looks nice, by the way.”

“It’s… uncomfortable,” she frowned down at the elegant fabric, running her hands over her waist to feel the boning of her corset. “But it makes Mother happy.”

“I caught a glimpse of her on my way in. She seems so much livelier than I’ve ever seen her before.”

Grimacing, Liviana put her hands down. “Did you know she hired tutors for me? Apparently, I’m to learn everything I should have as a child in the span of a month. History, and the Chant and sums and Orlesian and needlepoint and etiquette, and Max, she has me _dancing_. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s stuff you would have known had you grown up here,” he pointed out with no little amusement. “Just add it to your repertoire of skills. Can dance a ritornello and allemande, as well as disembowel a man in nine different ways.”

“Nine?” she scoffed. “At least twelve.”

“Such talent,” he grinned. “Is that why the Knight-Captain was so enamored by you?”

Liviana spluttered. “Cullen is no such thing.”

“Whatever you say, Kitty Cat. Come on, I’m starved.” Taking her arm, he pulled her out into the hall. “So, how long do you think you’re staying?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I had only thought to stay for a few weeks, but… I think Mother might have a fit if I left anytime soon. Besides, I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“Not going back to Kirkwall?”

One shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug. _Streets running blood and ichor, demons’ shrieks echoing off the walls, fire, destruction, filth, Varric’s face looking down at her, his fingers smoothing away the blood and skin as he unpicked her manacles, Cullen begging her for his life, Isabela screaming while Titus laughed_ \- “It wasn’t really my home.”

“I suppose not,” he mused. “Ah. There’s Mother.”

“Evelyn,” the woman swept forward, her own dark curls arranged in a demure bun that was held back by a silken net. “There you are. Turn for me, let me see the new dress. Oh the laces are crooked. I do wish you’d let one of the servants help you dress, it would look so much neater. Have you been using the salve on your hands? Your nails are still so cracked and dry, dear.”

Liviana’s gaze met Max’s over their mother’s head. _Help me_ , she mouthed. Max just shook his head, and slowly backed away. “Hello, Mother.”

“Oh, Maxwell,” Marisol glanced up and idly patted him on his shoulder. “When did you get here? Never mind, supper is being set now.”

“What was that?” Liviana stared after the woman as she bustled away. “Do you come here that often that she doesn’t seem to notice?”

“No,” sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “Mother’s never really tolerated me being around after my magic came in. I don’t visit much. I used to only come every other year for Satinalia, before I left. This is actually the first time I’ve seen her in what, five years?”

“I didn’t realize,” she murmured.

“It is what it is,” he nudged her. “I’ll come around extra now, just for you.”

“I’d like that,” her lips curled up in a tiny smile., turning the corner to enter the dining room.

“So have you heard from Hawke recently?”

“Hawke?” Her father gaze snapped to them as he stepped in through the opposite door. “You don’t mean Garrett Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall?”

“Is Hawke that uncommon of a name?” Liviana glanced aside to Max.

“It’s a Ferelden name,” Philip replied. “There aren’t any Hawkes I know of in the Free Marches besides the Champion. Did you know him?”

Max slowly took his seat, wincing as he realized how much of her life his sister had kept from their parents. Understandable, really. She had seen some beyond trying times, and the destruction of Kirkwall was just icing on her cake of misery.

“I did,” Liviana carefully gathered her skirts and lowered herself into her chair in the manner her etiquette teacher had drilled her upon. “We were friends.”

“You were there when the Grand Cleric was murdered?” Marisol chose that moment to walk in with a sharp gasp.

Shooting a glare at her brother from beneath her lashes, Liviana sighed. “I was.”

“And that terrorist,” her mother shivered. “I can’t believe he’s still out there, doing Maker knows what sort of blood rituals. Lady Walsey was just talking about it the other day. How are we supposed to feel safe when that madman is on the loose?”

“Anders isn’t a blood mage,” Liviana snapped before she could stop herself. “And he wouldn’t come into your house just to murder people for the sake of it.”

“Evelyn,” Marisol thumped one palm down upon the embroidered tablecloth. “Don’t tell me you were _friends_ with that apostate?”

“I… It was complicated,” she grumbled.

“Don’t mumble dear, it’s not becoming.”

“I said it was complicated,” Liviana made sure to enunciate every syllable. “And there is nothing wrong with being an apostate. Hawke is one, and he’s one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

“Then why has he by all accounts disappeared? That is not the behavior of an innocent man,” her mother countered. “If you ask me, he probably was colluding with the maleficarum, and-”

“Don’t you dare group Hawke with those maleficar!” The heavy wooden chair scraped along the stones as she shoved it back and sprang to her feet. “You have no idea what he’s endured, what he witnessed or what Meredith allowed to happen to the mages! You can’t know. _You. Weren’t. There._ ”

“My heavens!” Lady Trevelyan stared up at her daughter without blinking, as if finally seeing her for the stranger she truly was. A nervous laugh tickled at her throat. “I see this is a sensitive subject for you. Very well. I will keep my comments to myself, as I see they are not wanted.”

“I can’t do this,” Liviana muttered. Whirling away from the table with no word of an excuse, she hurried back to her room, one hand yanking at the laces that kept her waist bound. _I can’t be here. I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to fit back in to this sort of life. And the nerve of her, accusing Hawke of all people of blood magic, after everything he’s been through. She doesn’t understand. No one will understand. That’s why he’s still in hiding, why he can’t go home even now. And she sits there in her fancy dress with her servants in her mansion, and gives her opinion like it matters?_

“Evelyn,” she heard a soft knock at the door. “May I come in?”

Choosing not to answer, Liviana pulled on her old tunic and leggings, her silken dress and corset tossed to the ground. The door swung open anyways.

Philip leaned on the doorframe, one hand pulling at the back of his neck, trying to wrack his brain for the words that just wouldn’t come. How did he even begin to talk to her? Evelyn wasn’t the daughter that had left so many years ago, that much he had expected and was certain. This young woman before him that looked at him with his own eyes had seen horrors he could not even fathom. Maker, she had lived as a _slave_ in the Imperium, had managed to escape, and survived the turmoil of Kirkwall. But he didn’t care. She was his child, the light of his world, and she was back. Home where she belonged. “Evelyn,” he started again, gently. “Your mother had no right to say those things.”

“Damn right she didn’t,” Liviana growled, stalking around her room and pulling random daggers out from various places to throw on top of her pack. Philip blanched a bit at the sight of so many blades. 

“I make no excuse for your mother, and I promise you, I will have a talk with her. But please. Don’t go. I just got you back, and I-” His voice wavered. “I would like for you to say. At least for a little while longer.”

Liviana paused, a throwing knife tightly gripped in her palm. 

“I know I can’t make you stay, should you choose to go. And I would not want to attempt to force you to do something you didn’t want to, especially with your… your past. But. I’d like for you to stay.”

How must it feel, to have lost both children? To know one was alive, yet out of your reach, and to not know if the other survived? She wasn’t the only one who had suffered. Her torment might have been more corporeal, more tangible, but the pain her parents lived through was just as valid.

She dropped the dagger onto the rug. “Alright,” she breathed. “I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word about Lady Trevelyan before y'all come for her with pitchforks lolol. She really does love her daughter, but she's one of those types who believe that she knows best, and refuses to accept that her child is now a woman grown with her own ideals and preferences. So what she does and says, she does out of love. Misguided, but true. Also, she _is_ nobility. Very proper lady. She's also where Liv gets her stubbornness from.


	36. The Tale of the Champion

Maker, how her head hurt. Dropping the quill in her hand onto the polished wood, Liviana groaned and pushed the ledger away, pulling at the taut muscles of her neck. Learning how to manage a household was difficult enough, but coupling these tasks with all the other lessons that had continued for months now was enough to make her head explode. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a small measure of pride for what she had accomplished. She never used the wrong fork at supper anymore, all of her sums were tidy and neat, and she could dance with a fair amount of skill. However, her embroidery skills left much to be desired, and her recollection of the Chant of Light was precarious at best.

Not to mention she would never be as gracious of a host as her mother, or her Great-aunt Lucille. Small talk and idle chatter were not her forte, and she found such conversation painful and grating. She was much more like her father on that account. Max was similar to their mother, with his tendency to prattle on just to fill the silence.

But she tried, for her parents’ sake. And it kept her mind occupied, away from the dark memories that lurked behind every shadow, so she didn’t mind it most days. Not to mention that she could see the value of what she was learning, as far as numbers and management skills were concerned. She still didn’t see the point of dancing. Or needlepoint.

Closing the ledger, Liviana tucked it back onto its shelf, and swept out of the room. It was strange, how she was now used to wearing skirts instead of breeches, with the delicate slippers on her feet that would shred to pieces if she ever wore them out. She missed her boots.

“I finished the tax accounts for the outlying farms,” she said to her father as she approached the table.

“Excellent,” he smiled up at her. “I’ll double check it tomorrow, then we can ride out this weekend to oversee collections.”

“Can I ride Soleil?” she asked eagerly. Tending to and riding the spirited mare was the brightest spot of her day. It was the one thing her father had insisted upon, that she learn to care for horses, how to brush and saddle them properly, how to replace a shoe if one cracked, what salves and liniments worked best for the creatures. For she was a Trevelyan, and the Trevelyans were the masters of the horse, famed throughout the Marches for their breeding and training.

“Of course,” he chuckled. “She’ll have no other rider besides you these days anyhow.”

“Lady Trevelyan? I have a package for you.” A servant stepped into the room, bearing a thick parcel in his hands. “From a Messere Varric Tethras.”

“The author?” Her mother gasped. “The man who wrote Hard in Hightown? You know him?”

Taking the bound package, Liviana smiled at the man and pulled the layers of paper and cloth back in a manner that resembled a child on Satinalia, revealing a book and an envelope. “I do,” she replied as she sliced the letter open. “He’s a… a good friend.”

_Hey Firefly. I know we left things a little raw when we parted. I wish there was something I could say to take your pain away, but there’s not. So all I can do is tell you I miss you, and I hope you’re doing well in Ostwick. Everyone else is the same. Our lovely guard-captain is still keeping Kirkwall together, and Daisy’s still in the alienage. Hawke and Broody, along with Junior and Sunshine were in Rivain as of their last letter, following a trail of slavers._

_I saw Curly the other day. He has a new scar on his face, but but for some reason I think it only enhances his rugged handsomeness. You’d like it. He told me to tell you he’s sorry for not writing to you as often as he’d like. He stays pretty busy. That Rylen character said to tell you hi as well._

_Anyways. I wanted to send you this. It’s done pretty well as far as sales go. Read it or not, I’m sure you don’t need the reminder of everything that happened but if you do, it’s all there. With some artistic licenses, of course._

_Take care, Firefly._

_PS. Still the strongest person I know._

_Your favorite dwarf,_

_Varric_

It was the Tale of the Champion. Gold embossed letters marked the leather cover, soft and smooth to the touch. Thumbing the book open, she breathed in of the tangy, fresh parchment and ink, bringing with it the memories of his little study and all those hours he spent with her, the pair of them pouring over books and runes. How much time had he spent on her? For nothing in return save the enjoyment of watching her learn? Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. _I should have known better. He has a good reason for maintaining contact with Tilani. Who knows? Maybe one day, it will even prove beneficial. Again. I should write to him._

“The Tale of the Champion,” her mother read over her shoulder, interrupting her reverie. “I’ve heard of the reviews of this book. Most of the Champion’s feats seem impossible.”

“It is Varric telling it,” Liviana snorted quietly. “So it’s probably at least 80% hyperbole.”

“Don’t snort like that, dear. It’s not becoming.”

“Yes, Mother.” Lifting the wrapping paper up, she folded it back over the cover.

“You’re not going to read it?” Her father glanced up surprised.

“No,” she shook her head, dropping her eyes to the twine that she idly rubbed between two fingers. “I know everything that happened in Kirkwall. It was… a lot. I’m not quite sure I’m ready to remember it all.” Memories of Kirkwall were caught up in her recent trauma that she suffered on Ath Velanis. Demons shrieking, the coppery bite of blood and mana hanging in the air, screams echoing off the stones, the cloying scent of death and decay and Maker, it was too much to think of. Her eyes squeezed shut. _I’m safe here. I’m safe here_. Also, Cullen was probably in that book. Reading about him would just make her miss him and his stupid smirk even more, bringing with it the horror of the Fade.

“Would you mind if I read it?” Philip asked softly.

“I…” Biting her lip, Liviana’s gaze flicked up to her father, his gray eyes calmly regarding her. _I do not think he would judge me. But Evelyn isn’t in this book. I wonder how many times I’m even mentioned in it. If I told him no, would he refrain? Although he didn’t have to ask me for my permission to read it._ Fiddling with the string, her chin jerked up in a hesitant nod. “If you’d like.”

He smiled at her. “Thank you.”

***

His eyes burned from the strain of focusing. For three nights now, Philip had barely slept, electing to spend his hours devouring each page of the Tale of the Champion by candlelight in his study. What this book contained…

Sighing, he closed the back cover and leaned his head back. It seemed a tale of fiction. Blood mages and evil templars and dragons and witches and a cursed sword that turned the Knight-Commander into a Maker forsaken statue, of all things. To know that this was truth- or close to it, given that Evelyn had said the author was given to exaggeration, Maker save them all. The world was going mad.

Maxwell had been in the Gallows. He should ask him if the book spoke the truth about the atrocities and abuse of the templars there. Or did he even want to know? Frowning down at the tome, Philip made a mental note to invite his son back to the house sometime soon. Evelyn seemed brighter whenever he came around.

And Evelyn. There was no one by that name in the book. But there was a Liviana. A fugitive of the Imperium, much like the Champion’s lover, a warrior and rogue of unparalleled skill. Brutal, deadly, unyielding, brash- was that his sweet Evelyn? The woman he had come to know was much more demure and graceful, coming into her heritage with surprising ease and comfort. Or so he thought. The woman described in the story cut down twenty men by herself, and laughed as she bathed herself in their blood. But there had been a hesitance during those first few weeks she had arrived. Someone would call her name, once, twice, thrice, and then, she might respond with a startled look. Eventually, she answered readily to her name, and Philip had just thought it an odd quirk at the time. But Evelyn wasn’t her name, was it? Not anymore.

Shaking his head to clear it of that disturbing image, Philip grabbed a snifter and poured himself a measure of brandy, just something to calm his nerves. Pacing the length of his study, he paused by the window as movement in the yard caught his eye. Was one of his men training at this hour of the night? Everyone should be abed. Squinting, he could just make out a slight figure dressed in leathers, nothing similar to what his guard wore. There was only one person it could be, then.

Philip quietly padded down the halls and headed out to the training yard towards the far end where the straw dummies stood. Andraste’s soul, but she was magnificent. A blade was clutched in both of her hands, the silverite flashing in the moonlight as they whirled around her body in a blur, the metal colliding with the targets hard enough to make his teeth rattle had he stood any closer.

And where had she learned this? In Tevinter. As a _slave_. His daughter had been owned by another man, forced to do Maker knew what. The reality of her past settled around his heart like a vise, crushing the very breath from his body. Seeing her now, like this, reading about the things she had done- it had just been a vague sentiment before, and Evelyn seemed happy enough. Save for that one time she had almost left. But was she?

He stopped several paces behind her. “Liviana.”

Liviana dropped her arms, the edges of her swords scraping in the dirt and her eyes staring at anything but him. Her breath came in heavy pants. “Yes?”

“So it is true,” he murmured, mostly to himself. Then, louder, “What are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I have trouble sleeping,” she replied quietly, wiping away a thin trickle of sweat from her brow. “I come out here most nights to train. I… Mother doesn’t want me to practice at all. Says its very unladylike. But to give it all up,” her shoulders deflated. “I couldn’t.”

“Nor should you,” he shook his head. “I would not wish for you to do anything you did not want, Evelyn. Or should I call you Liviana?”

“Evelyn’s fine,” she swiveled just enough so she could look at him. Moonlight spilled over her dark hair and glinted off the rivets in her armor. 

“Your mother says a lot of things,” Philip sighed after a moment. “You have to understand, after you disappeared, and your brother’s magic manifested, she… changed. She loves you very much, and she just wants you to have the life you were meant for, but…” His smile was wistful. “I don’t think this is who you are, is it? The lessons and etiquette and the intrigues of the nobility. The book described you as harsh. Assertive, temperamental. I haven’t seen much of that in you since you’ve been here. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just- I worry. The woman Tethras wrote of was in no way meek or complacent.”

The swords dropped the ground in a muffled clatter. Collapsing into the dirt, Liviana wearily looked up at her father. It was true. How easy had it been for her to slip back into the role of follower? Obeying the orders her mother barked out without protest, because finally, she had someone to tell her what to do and how to live her life. It was easier, especially after the last few years of aimless wandering. And it made her mother happy. _Once a slave, always a slave._

But he was right. This wasn’t who she was. Rather, it felt much as it did when she served at the ludus. Curiously detached from reality, going through the motions of life, never present in the moment. Until she donned her armor and picked up her blades. The training yard, sweat dripping down her flushed skin, the burn in her muscles- _that_ was home. That was who she was.

“I feel like a child’s doll,” she confessed. “Painted and dressed all prettily, but without any true function save to entertain.”

“That’s not true,” Philip sat down next to her, heedless of the wet grass that soaked through his pants. “You’re learning valuable skills. Skills that will be useful once you take over the estate.”

“How can I?” she sighed. “My past still follows me, Father. The things I’ve done... I’m not sure how much Varric put in the book. But there are things I’ve never told him. Or anyone, really. I know how the nobility whisper behind my back when they think I’m not paying attention. I’ll never really be one of them. So how could I possibly be bann one day?”

“By virtue of who you are,” he replied firmly. Taking her hand in his, he smiled warmly. “I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked to learn, all those times I’ve found you in the library studying. How you talk to our people and staff, not down at them. You understand their lives, better than I, I dare say. And it shows in how you deal with them. Your cousin, Matthias, he is a good lad. But still, born and raised as nobility. It’s not a bad thing,” he shrugged. “But you would be better. I’ve heard that Ferelden king was raised as a commoner, and the people absolutely adore him.”

“Alistair still doesn’t see himself as a noble either. He’s much more at home in a tavern than a palace,” she grinned in spite of herself.

“Alis- You know the king?” Philip stared at his daughter, his jaw dropping to his chest. “Maker’s breath, you do. Don’t tell your mother. She’d lose her mind with joy and planning. All those connections he could bring the family.”

“My lips are sealed,” Liviana promised, a shudder ripping through her body at the very thought.

“Well, I should get to bed. You should, as well. I’d offer you a warm glass of milk to help you sleep but I doubt it would work on you now that you’re grown.”

That earned him a tiny smile. “I’ll manage, Father.”

“Good night, then. And Evelyn… I wanted you to know. How very proud I am of you. And,” his voice cracked as his head ducked down, he found that his hands were suddenly busy with brushing the dirt and grass from his breeches, “I wanted to apologize. I should have been there, I should have looked harder. Tried for longer. Everyone told me you were dead, and that I was just torturing myself with my continued search, but if I had kept at it a bit longer, maybe I would have found you. Maybe I could have saved you, and I’m so sorry-”

“No,” Liviana quickly rose to her feet and stepped closer to him, her hand gripping his arm. “It’s not your fault. It was an accident. And I’m safe now. Here, with you. I don’t blame you at all, Father.”

“That makes one of us,” he sniffed. “I’m so glad you’re home, Evelyn. I’m so glad you stayed.”

“Me, too.” Freezing as his arms suddenly wrapped around her in a crushing embrace, Liviana slowly brought her hands up to encircle his torso and relaxed into his chest, heedless of the tears flowing down her own cheeks unchecked. Her swords may be her home, but so was this. Coming back had been the right decision, despite her mother’s antics. They were all borne out of love for her.

“I love you, darling. So very much.” She smiled as she felt him press a kiss to her hair. “Good night.”

“Good night, Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the best readers ever. That is all.


	37. Out of Exile

**Firstfall (Umbralis), 9:40**

The heat from her hair burned into the back of her neck as Emilia gently released the curl from the iron. Liviana stared at her reflection. She had never been particularly concerned about her appearance, having rarely had access to any sort of mirror besides a barrel of water that she happened to pass by, but she knew the basics of her features. Features that did not resemble the person staring back at her right now.

Her midnight hair had been pulled back into a high twist, a waterfall of carefully constructed curls spilling down her exposed shoulders. Kohl lined her eyes, making the gray appear darker, and her eyes, more feline. Lips had been painted a dark berry red, contrasting perfectly with the navy silk of her dress. Firelight from the candles set into the sconces in her room glinted off the gold threads that were woven into the silk, forming elegant scrolls and swirls along the bodice and full skirt. It was a stunning creation, made especially for tonight. Liviana frowned.

Her mother had been in a twitter over this ball for months now. It was an annual celebration, set right before Satinalia, and hosted by Teyrn Brysdon and his very single son and heir to the teyrnir, Edmund. Or so Liviana had heard from her mother on countless occasions. She had met the Teyrn of Ostwick and his son a couple of times over the last two years or so, and they both seemed a decent enough sort, if horribly dull. Definitely not the type she would ever want to marry, even if either party were willing. She knew the rumors that swirled around her, although her mother somehow remained blissfully oblivious. _Dirty slut. Just another trollop, painted up to play pretend. Never be real nobility, not after she’s been so tainted and used. What decent man would ever want her?_

Little did they know she agreed with them.

Still, despite her wishes to not attend, returning to her family and being named the Trevelyan heir carried with it certain expectations. So she had to attend, smile and put on a pleasant expression, and dutifully make the rounds and dance with every noble fop who thought her an easy target for a quick romp in the broom closet. Luckily for her, these Ostwick lords were nothing like the magisters and infinitely easier to trick and distract, just long enough for her to slip away without bringing any attention to herself. For she knew how it would go if she cried foul play, or worse, defended herself? Who would believe the slanderous whore over a lord?

“All done, my lady. You’ll be the most beautiful one there, I’m sure of it,” Emilia fastened the last pin into her hair. “Lord Brysdon won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.”

 _Joy_. “Thank you, Emilia. You did a wonderful job,” Liviana plastered on the tiny, neutral smile she had once mastered so long ago at the hands of Varinius. Never did she imagine she would one day resort back to her former placid demeanor willingly. But it was easiest, in this world she now inhabited. 

“Don’t you look pretty,” a cheery voice called from the hallway.

“I wish you were coming,” Liviana glanced into her mirror at her brother. Max had come to stay at the estate, for good this time, after news reached Ostwick that the Lord Seeker had dissolved the Nevarran Accord, which bound the Seekers and Templars to the Chantry, and the College of Enchanters had voted to remove themselves as well. Every mage was now an apostate. Rumors of fighting between the factions grew more fantastic with each retelling, until most of the populace believed that every mage had turned to blood magic and sacrificed children to fuel their ritualistic orgies. She didn’t doubt that some had turned to the forbidden magics- there was always that lure of easy power. But most simply went into hiding. The lucky ones returned to their families.

“No, thank you,” he snorted. “Most of them already think Father is harboring a magister, by the way they talk of me. I’ll be perfectly content to stay here tonight and let you play nice with them.”

She just stuck out her tongue in response.

“Evelyn? Are you ready? Oh my, don’t you look lovely.” Marisol swept into the room, both hands clasped under her quivering chin with a handkerchief at the ready to soak up any errant tears. “Forgive me, darling. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the fact that you are actually here, and oh my soul. You are so very beautiful.”

“Mother,” Liviana blushed, shooting a tiny glare at her brother, who was busy rolling his eyes behind their mother’s back. “We should go.”

“Yes, of course. Philip! Is the carriage around front?”

“Ready and waiting, Lady Trevelyan. And there’s my brilliant girl,” Philip beamed as they entered the foyer and took his wife’s hand to kiss. “Magnificent as always, the both of you.”

“Oh, stop,” Marisol tapped his shoulder with her lace fan, a coy smile on her lips. 

“How can I, when I have the two most beautiful ladies in Thedas in my company?”

“Father, really?” Liviana laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Just a man besotted by his girls, my dear. In we go.”

Waving goodbye to her brother, Liviana settled herself against the soft cushions. Maker, she couldn’t wait to get there just so she could leave.

Teyrn Brysdon’s lands were lit with hundreds of torches and candles, every inch of the castle glowing with soft firelight that reflected off the gold and silver trappings. Rich, decadent perfume filled the air along with the rustle of silk and velvet and the lively chatter of the nobility of Ostwick as they moved amongst themselves, sipping daintily from crystal goblets of wine and darker liquors, for the men. From somewhere in the ballroom, stringed instruments played. It was no estate of the magisterium nor the gilded halls of Starkhaven, but it was a rather impressive display, for Ostwick. More intimate, and cozy. _Quaint, I suppose is the word that the Orlesians would use._

“Lady Trevelyan,” Edmund Brysdon spotted her as she entered the room. Bowing at the waist, his immaculately style mouse-brown hair slicked back, the lord took her proffered hand. “You honor us with your presence tonight. Bann Trevelyan, Lady Trevelyan,” he nodded to her parents. “I am glad you were able to join us.”

“We would not have missed it for anything, my lord,” Marisol flushed in the warm air, her lashes fluttering beguilingly. 

“Would you save me a dance, my lady?” he turned back towards Liviana.

“I’m at your disposal, my lord,” she responded, just as she had been taught.

“Evelyn,” her mother touched her elbow as Edmund bowed again, and backed away, “Your friends are over there.”

Liviana stifled a groan. _Friends. Harpies, maybe. Venomous snakes and pond scum in the shape of a human._ She was positive that most of the rumors that circulated about her disappearance and reappearance and what she had done in the meantime were started by these… individuals.

 _Still, it would be in bad form to not at least greet them_. Unclenching her teeth, she slowly made her way over there, pausing only to greet her cousin Matthias, the older man barely tolerating her presence. He was none to pleased about her return, for it meant that the title of bann would no longer be passed to him. Sometimes, Liviana wondered if it would be better to just let him have it all.

“Did you see him?”

“No! Did you?”

“I did! He’s as handsome as they say.”

“Oh sweet Maker, if he even looks at me, I know I’ll just faint. Do you think he’d catch me?”

“I’ve heard he’s nothing but a perfect gentleman.”

“Hello Lady Willoughby, Lady Ervington,” Liviana nodded at the pair as she approached. 

“Lady Trevelyan,” Lady Willoughby smirked at her. “Have you seen the prince, by chance?”

“The prince?” she glanced around. “Prince of what?”

“Why, Prince Sebastian Vael!” Lady Ervington giggled. “He’s here tonight, to garner support and make new alliances. No one knew he was coming, and it sent Lady Brysdon into an absolute tizzy, trying to make sure everything was satisfactory for His Highness.”

 _Sebastian is here?_ Liviana barely heard another word as the two women chattered excitedly about the prince. Panic welled up from deep in her stomach, the pressure rising through her chest and sending tingles racing down her arms. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her head felt faint. Why was she so worried? She hadn’t seen the man since he left that night the Chantry exploded, and had since put him out of her mind. He was nothing to her.

Besides a link back the person she had once been, the person she had reclaimed from Tevinter, piece by agonizing piece. And now she had changed again, into Evelyn Trevelyan, the docile noblelady. Would he even recognize her? Did she recognize herself? The conversation she had had with her father came back to her.

No, she wasn’t anything like the woman described in Varric’s books. She was softer now, calmer. And still just as bored and dead inside. Maker, when was the last time she had felt anything stronger than annoyance, with the occasional frustration? There was no anger, no happiness. Just endless days of idle chitchat and books.

_It’s not so bad, is it? Things are more stable now, and there’s less blood and death. That’s a good thing, after everything I’ve survived. After Ath Velanis._

_This life was the complete opposite the life Liviana had led. Maybe I’m not Liviana anymore. Maybe I can just be Evelyn._

_I wonder what Cullen would think of me as I am now._

_Why am I thinking about Cullen?_

“Evelyn,” her mother swooped in and grasped her arm in a vise-like grip, “Excuse me ladies, but I need my daughter for a moment.” Steering her away and back into the crowd, Marisol hissed in her ear, “The Prince of Starkhaven is here. And I hear he’s single. Your father is going to be introduced to him soon, and you’re going to be there with him.”

“Mother,” Liviana desperately tried to wiggle her arm free, to no avail, “I can’t! I’m sure he doesn’t want to meet me, anyhow.”

“We won’t know until we try. An introduction won’t hurt anything,” she whispered back firmly. “There they are.”

“Mother!” Finally managing to wrench her arm free as she was deposited just outside a cluster of people, Liviana turned to speed away into the crowd-

“ _Liviana?!_ ”

And stopped. Slowly spinning back around, she glanced up into blue eyes the color of the summer sky that were staring back at her, pinning her in place. A green jacket, the shade of dark moss, lined with gold trimming fit snugly around his toned body, contrasting perfectly with the cream silk tunic underneath, his dark skin practically glowing faintly in the candlelight. It was a different look for him, definitely more regal. And far from the Chantry boy archer she had known. A look suited for a prince.

Liviana swallowed. There was nowhere to run. “Hello, Your Highness,” she dipped into a proper curtsy.

Her father recovered before the prince did. “Ah, Your Highness,” he moved towards her, “May I present my daughter, Evelyn?”

“We know each other,” Sebastian still hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “From Kirkwall.”

“Of course,” Philip nodded. “Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Sebastian replied. “Lady Trevelyan, will you honor this simple fool with a dance?”

“There’s hardly anything simple about you,” she found her voice.

“Not going to touch the fool part?” His grin was wry, and disarming.

“I defer to His Highness’ characterization of his own person,” she retorted. “For I would not know.”

Throwing his head back, heedless of the gasps at her cheek echoing around them, Sebastian laughed, rich and loud. “Dance with me, Liv,” he bowed and held out his hand with twinkling eyes.

“I suppose I can’t refuse a prince,” she sighed. Placing her hand within his, she allowed him to sweep her out onto the suddenly empty dance floor. “Weren’t you supposed to greet the rest of the nobles?”

“Probably,” he smiled down at her. “They’ll all be whispering about me now, and saying that I’m still the same wild, wicked lad and that my years in the Chantry haven’t changed me one whit. Or they’ll be jealous, and forgive my slight because I now have the most beautiful woman in Thedas in my arms.”

Liviana snorted, that inelegant sound that made her mother despair. “You’re terrible."

“Aye,” he chuckled. Spinning her in a circle, her skirt flaring out, he wrapped his hand back around her waist. She felt his fingers digging into her side as his countenance sobered. “Liviana… I wanted to apologize. That night I left, I was heartbroken, furious, and devastated all at once. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I swore to you I’d be there for you, as long as it took, and I left. I am sorry. Truly, deeply sorry. I should have stayed with you.”

That was the last thing she had expected him to say. Clearing her throat, she dared a peek up at him. Andraste save her, did he have to be so handsome? “Oh? That’s, well- I accept your apology.”

“Thank you,” his shoulders sagged in relief at her forgiveness as he reached up to brush a lock of her hair back from her cheek. One finger traced the scar that marred her face. “Maker, but I’ve missed you.” Opening her mouth, no words of a witty response came to her rescue, so she just offered him a tiny wan smile in its stead. “Has it been too long?” His question exhaled on a breath, soft and slight as a whisper, and Liviana wasn’t sure if she heard him clearly or not. But before she could question him, that dazzling smile was back in place on his face. “So how long have you been here?”

The music faded into another song yet Sebastian made no move to relinquish his hold on her. “I arrive here in Cass- Haring 38.” Maybe one day, she could give the month in actual Common without thinking of the name in Tevene first.

“So long? You seem to be fitting in well.”

“Of a sort,” she sighed. “I’ve learned a lot over the last two years. And Father says I’m doing well. But I’m always reminded when I’m with others of how unlike them I truly am.”

“You are worth ten of them, easily,” he replied with firm conviction. “They are rats dressed in silk coats and adorned with pearls, scrabbling to climb the ladder.”

“Why Your Highness, are you speaking ill of your new allies? Scandalous.”

Sebastian huffed a small laugh. “They all say they are eager, and yet each of them has pushed their unmarried daughter at me at first opportunity and I can hear the threat under their well wishes. Choose my family, or else. It’s madness. I did not miss this part of the nobility.”

“The Chantry is hardly free of ambitious people either,” she pointed out.

“True. Hawke was one of the few I knew that never aspired to all of this. Nor Aveline, or Varric. Or you. Everyone that he surrounded himself with was content with what they had.”

“Mm,” she nodded. “Everyone is staring at us. No one else has danced since you dragged me out here.”

“I noticed,” he glanced up. “Should we give the floor back to them?” With a mischievous smirk, Sebastian spun her in a tight arc and drew her back in, dipping her low with a flourish as the final notes of the waltz came to an end. The crowd exploded into raucous applause. 

“Show off,” she laughed.

“How can I not when I’m with you?” he grinned back. Slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow, he led her off the floor.

“That was well done, Your Highness,” one of the other banns bowed to him.

“It was easy, with such a lovely partner,” Sebastian beamed down at Liviana. For the rest of the night, he was loathe to let her out of his sight, always keeping her close by his side as he circulated amongst the others. Liviana caught the whispers that followed them.

“How do you think she knows him?”

“How else? Bet she’s slept with him.”

“Do you think he’s going to marry her?”

“Her? Gracious, no. She’s not fit to be a bann, let alone a princess. He’ll probably just keep her as his mistress. That’s all her sort is good for anyways, and just barely.”

“She’d be better suited as a pet, kept on a leash.”

“Are you alright?” Sebastian noticed the tension that was coiling throughout her body, the way her limbs stiffened by her side.

“I’m fine,” she replied quietly. It was nothing she didn’t expect, after all.

“Prince of Starkhaven,” a new voice chimed in with her critics, masculine and slurred with drink. “Ha! He stole that crown.”

“He’s been in the Chantry. I’ve heard it said he was very devoted to Her Grace and the Maker.”

“I heard his family was murdered? You can’t be suggesting he was the one who did it?”

“‘Course he didn’t do it. He hired others. Can’t get his own hands dirty, you know. How else does a third son gain a throne, except to kill his way to it?”

She knew Sebastian had heard that last bit, judging by the way his jaw ticked and his eyes flashed fire. Whirling away from her, the prince advanced on the man, his brogue deepening with every word he spat, “And who the hell are you?”

“Lord Timothy Gershan,” the man swept him a haughty bow, fit for a lesser lordling, not a prince. The slight did not go unnoticed. 

“A common noble. A nobody. And you dare besmirch my honor and the memory of my parents?” Sebastian growled. 

“You dare,” Lord Gershan retorted. “Tell me, Your Highness, how an entire family of skilled men and warriors suddenly dies in their own house? How mercenaries got into their home? Unless they were given inside information. Convenient, how you were the only one to survive.”

Clenching his fists, Sebastian trembled with the effort of not throttling the man right then and there, the veins in his neck pulsing with his heartbeat. “I do not have to listen to these lies.”

“Running away, are you?” Gershan crowed. “Or is that how you escaped? By hiding under the skirts of the Grand Cleric? If you were a man, you’d face my accusations as such.”

“What are you saying,” the prince snapped. “I tire of your prattle.”

“A duel, Your Highness. You and me, and your blades. Let our swords speak the truth.”

“A duel? I accept,” Sebastian snarled.

“Your Highness,” the other Starkhavener who had been following around Sebastian all night spoke up with an urgency that belied his normally stoic demeanor. “You cannot fight him yourself! Starkhaven cannot risk another war if the worst were to befall you.”

“I can’t back down out of this, Reginald,” Sebastian turned to glare at his man. “I’ll be fine. I still have some skill with a blade.”

“Your Highness,” he whispered in a low voice, “Lord Gershan was trained by Ser LeMarche, the famed chevalier. He is very skilled with his blades.”

That gave Sebastian some pause. “What do you suggest I do then?”

“You are allowed to choose a champion,” Reginald breathed a sigh of relief that his master was amenable to alternatives. “One of your guard, perhaps, I believe Ser Fleming is a talented duelist.”

“Aye,” Sebastian mused. “Or…” He turned to Liviana.

“What? No. Sebastian, I can’t,” Liviana spluttered.

“Ser Fleming is my best option,” he said with a sad smile. “But he also has a wife, and a wee babe at home.”

 _Fenhedis_. “...Fine. But I’m going to let you explain this one to my mother.”

“Done,” he grinned. “Lord Gershan. I accept your challenge. And I’d like to name my champion, Lady Liviana.”

Mutters traveled through the crowd, and Gershan blinked in a daze at him. “Who?”

“Sebastian. They don’t know that name,” Liviana hissed.

“Oh! Pardon. Lady Evelyn Trevelyan.”

“You’d choose a woman to fight your battles for you,” Lord Gershan slapped his knee and doubled forward with a cackle. “Should I ask my young son to fight her in my stead? Mayhaps one of my chambermaids? The dairy girl? Or my hunting dog? That’d be a sight, my dog fighting this bit-”

Faster than lightning, Liviana reached forward and slipped the dagger she had spotted in Sebastian’s boot free, letting it fly as soon as it was in her hand. The thud of the blade embedding into the wood behind him, his cap quivering from the edge, echoed through the once against silent room.

“Do not mock me, my lord. I am no dog,” her words were even and measured.

Visibly swallowing, Lord Gershan straightened. “Tomorrow,” all hints of amusement faded from his voice. “Noon. At Hunter’s Point.”

 _Dammit, Sebastian._ Her mother was not going to be pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look who's back it's everyone favorite Starkhavener!
> 
> Just kidding. Rylen's my favorite. Shoo, Sebastian.


	38. An Unwelcome Proposal

The ballroom exploded into chaos. Chaos that Liviana used to her advantage to slip outside, Sebastian and her parents following on her heels.

“What was that?” Her mother rushed over to her with eyes all agog and accusatory. 

“Ah, that was my doing, I’m afraid,” Sebastian sheepishly smiled at her, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in a motion that reminded her sharply of Ser Cullen. “I asked her to stand as my champion.”

“But Your Highness,” Lady Trevelyan gaped, “Surely you have others at your disposal who would serve better?”

“There is no one more skilled than she,” Sebastian replied firmly. 

“But that was years ago,” she protested. “Evelyn hasn’t trained at all since she came to us.”

“Is that true?”

Liviana glanced up from where she had been intently studying a bright orange lily as if it held all the secrets to the world, and shrugged. “I haven’t sparred with anyone, no. So I’m probably a tad rusty. But still a match for any chevalier.”

“Skilled enough to pin old Gershan’s hat to the wall,” her father nearly clapped his hands with glee. “What an odious toad of a man.” 

“But,” Marisol tried again. “What of her reputation? What will the others think?”

“Mother,” Liviana sighed. “They think nothing of me anyways. So this would change nothing.”

“I see," she pressed her painted lips into a thin line. "So nothing I say will change your mind?”

“Sebastian can’t back down from the challenge, now that it has been issued,” Liviana patiently explained. “So no, this is something I must do.”

“Very well. But, Evelyn,” her mother gathered her hands up and pressed them to her chest. “You’ll be careful?”

“Of course, I will,” she smiled. “I’m always careful.” Behind her, Sebastian coughed. Craning her neck around, Liviana leveled a glare at him.

“I suppose that’s settled then. We should probably leave. Evelyn, will you send for the carriage? I need to go back inside and say goodbye to Lady Brysdon.”

“I’ll escort you, if I may,” Sebastian bowed to her. “I fear I must offer my own apologies to her ladyship as well.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Please, Sebastian is fine,” he smiled down at her. Liviana swore her mother swooned at the sight. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the house.

“Father, I don’t suppose I could borrow some of our men tomorrow morning to be my sparring partners for a bit? Just so I can warm up,” she asked.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. Please don’t seriously injure any of them,” he chuckled. “Did you really defeat thirty armed men and a pride demon by yourself?”

“Is that what Varric wrote?” she laughed. “No. I think the most was sixteen or so, and they were staggered. The pride demon was real, though.”

“Sixteen, Maker preserve me. And the dragon?”

“There were four of us, but yes, there was a dragon.”

“I think you’ll do just fine tomorrow, then. A _dragon_. My little girl, a dragon-slayer. Maker.”

“They were small dragons, if that helps.”

***

Philip shook his head. His gaze kept traveling from his daughter, who rode astride her own horse, the road before them, and back to his daughter. Reading about her feats was one thing. Seeing her this morning, easily disarming four of his best soldiers with just one single sword, no shield, and barely breaking a sweat was another. 

“You keep staring at me.”

“I apologize. It’s just… I’m trying to reconcile the woman I know with what I read and with what I saw today. You are magnificent, do you know that?”

Liviana blushed under his praise. “I’m a bit slower than I was. All the good, steady food and lazing about has made me soft.”

“If that was you being soft, I’m not sure I want to know what you were like at your peak,” he laughed. “I’d probably soil myself, and embarrass our family name for generations.”

“Father,” Liviana giggled. “That’s horrible.”

“Maxwell’s humor is rubbing off on me, I think,” he replied dryly. 

Liviana wished her brother could have come to the duel, for his presence reassured her like nothing else could. But their father had pointed out others might take issue with the mage, and accuse him of using his magic to help her win. As insulting as the idea was, she realized people would probably think that, and so he stayed home, awaiting her return. “Is that crowd all for this?”

Philip whistled at the sight of the dozens gathered at the top of the plateau atop the hill that was called Hunter’s Point by the locals, for it provided an excellent view of the valley below. “It looks like the whole city ball turned out.”

Letting Soleil trot up through the center of those gathered, her spine stiff and rigid, Liviana tied her reins to a nearby tree, scanning the crowd for Sebastian and doing her best to ignore the whispers. Rising up onto the tips of her toes, she spotted him. The prince stood at the other end of the clearing, deep in conversation with one of the other banns, trying his best to look interested in whatever the man was saying. His azure gaze rose and locked onto hers.

Stepping across the grass, her swords at her side, Liviana tugged her cloak tighter around her armored form, trying to ward off the winter’s chill and the haughty stares. “Sebastian,” she nodded as he approached.

“There’s the Liviana I remember,” he grinned down at her. “Armor and all. Maker, it’s like we’re back in Kirkwall.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “There’s too much greenery here and not nearly enough piss for that.”

“Aye, that’s true,” he agreed. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

“Ah, Lady Trevelyan,” Lord Gershan sneered her title as he strutted towards her. “I’m surprised you showed.”

“Would you rather I had not, my lord?” She smiled sweetly at the man. “There is still time for you to forfeit, if you are afraid.”

“Hardly,” he snapped. His armor was similar to that of the chevaliers, she noted. Adorned in a breastplate, greaves, and faulds to protect his body, with pauldrons and bracers to guard his limbs, he was built for force, with moderate speed. Faster than a templar, slower than a rogue. And already irritated with her. Liviana smiled.

“I must inform my lord that my style generally uses two swords. I can, if you wish, only use one,” she said graciously.

“Keep your two blades,” he replied, rather testily. “As long as you don’t have any objection to my sword and shield?”

“None at all, my lord.” Unclasping her cloak, Liviana handed the wool with its lynx pin to her father, and moved into the center of the clearing. “To first blood? Or ‘til one yields?”

“Until first blood,” he nodded. “This is a civilized duel, my lady.”

Inclining her chin, Liviana unsheathed her swords, and touched his blade gently with her own. “As you wish.”

She let him attack first. Rushing her with his sword bared and his shield held high, Gershan barreled towards her like a bull. It was a simple matter to parry his thrust, and step to the side. Realizing she would not be taken in by his posturing, he retreated. The warriors circled each other for a bit, each one studying the other, looking for a tic, a faltering step, anything they could use for their advantage. As she made the fourth round, Liviana jabbed with one sword, as a test it seemed. Her movements were powerful, yet unhurried, almost lazy in quality. And so it went for a good while, with Gershan maneuvering constantly, trying to find an opening, and Liviana idly swatting him back. Off to the side, Sebastian chuckled.

“Is she playing with him?” Philip whispered to the prince.

“Aye,” he grinned. “It’s normal, for a cat to play with their food before they move in for the kill.”

“She won’t kill him, will she?”

“She agreed to first blood, and that’s what she’ll do. Your daughter is a woman of her word, my lord.”

“Philip, please.”

“And you must call me Sebastian. I believe our friend is getting miffed with our Evelyn now.”

Raising his eyebrow at the way the Starkhaven prince said ‘our’, Philip kept his attention locked onto his daughter. Her smile was positively feral, a dangerous glint in her eye.

“Stop playing these games and fight me!” Gershan roared, his temper and patience finally pushed to the point of breaking.

“Alright,” she smiled. And pounced.

Her blades whirled around her like a silver tornado, each one lashing out against the man until all he could do was cower behind his shield as blows rained down upon him. All of his grace and training flew from his mind as anger and rage overtook his faculties. Shoving his shield forward, trying to shrug off her attacks, he lunged at her with his sword…

And stumbled to the ground as he hit nothing but air. Her sword whipped by his face and he felt a sting. Reaching up, he pulled his hand away from his cheek. His gauntlet came away with the smallest stain of red, only a few drops of blood welling up from the shallow nick across his skin. Precise and perfect. He had been beat.

“I believe you owe His Highness an apology,” Liviana stared at him coolly.

Swallowing the bitter taste left upon his tongue, Gershan shuffled over to the prince and bowed, his movements jerky and stiff. “I retract what I said about your honor and family, Your Highness,” he muttered. “I was in the wrong. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

“Accepted,” Sebastian nodded. “I also believe you owe Lady Trevelyan an apology as well.”

Glaring up at the prince, Gershan forced his body to turn back to where Liviana still stood, her swords dangling at her side. “My lady,” he gritted out. “You are an exceptional warrior. I apologize for my comments.”

“Thank you,” she tilted her chin down just a hair. “Oh Sebastian. My mother wanted to know if you’d join us for supper tonight.”

“I’d be absolutely delighted,” he grinned down at her, biting back a laugh at how mottled Gershan's cheek flushed for being so easily dismissed and forgotten. Taking her cloak, he swept it back over her shoulders and fastened the pin shut across her collarbone. “You were perfect, by the way.”

“If I get challenged to more duels just for the fun of it, I’m going to be upset with you,” she gave him a half-hearted scowl. “I saw how all those other little lordlings were watching me. Now they all want to know if they can best me.”

“You didn’t like the duel?” Her father ask, surprised. “You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself.”

“It’s… complicated,” she frowned at the ground as they walked back to the horses. “I enjoy fighting. But I don’t like the crowd. It reminded me too much of the arena.” _But there is grass here, with trees and mountains surrounding us. Not sandstone. Not sand. Not the bloody sun, beating down on me. And no Archon, high atop his pedestal, judging whether the other lives or dies._

“No more duels, then,” Sebastian agreed. “I’ll take my leave now, but I’ll see you tonight. My lady,” he pressed his lips to the back of his hand with a smirk.

Fighting a blush, Liviana could only nod, and reply, “Tonight.”

Philip watched as the Prince of Starkhaven strode away and back into the crowd, his sharp eyes not missing a moment of their interaction. “You seem different with him.”

“Do I?” Liviana swung one leg up onto her horse.

“Yes. You are with him like you are with Max. Happier, I daresay,” her father replied nonchalantly. “He seems a good lad.”

“He is a good person, despite the fact that he’s the most temperamental man I’ve ever met,” she agreed. “He’s like a walking hornet’s nest.”

“You and he, in Kirkwall… You were close?”

Liviana could only guess what her father was insinuating. “Not like that,” she glanced over at him with questions flashing behind her gaze, “But we were friends. Of a sort. Until he left.” _Until he left me._

“I see,” he nodded. “Well let’s head back. Your mother will be losing her mind trying to make everything perfect for the prince tonight.”

“Our staff will deserve a holiday after dealing with her today,” Liviana sighed.

*** 

Philip leaned back in his chair, tossing his linen napkin onto the table next to his empty plate. He grinned as he listened to Sebastian tell stories of their time in Kirkwall, with Liviana interrupting him every few seconds or so to argue a certain detail, and Max teasing her all the while. He had never seen her so spirited, so lively as she was tonight. Her eyes sparkled and her laughter flowed freely. It warmed his heart. She had certainly been a dutiful daughter since she had come to live with them, doing what was expected of her with grace and perfection, but it seemed to be rote for her. As if she were just going through the motions of life, and not really enjoying anything, save riding. Tonight was a welcome change.

Glancing over at his wife, he stifled a sigh. He knew what the woman was angling towards, a marriage between the prince and Evelyn. And to be honest, he wouldn’t mind the same. Forgetting the social status and trade that would come with such an alliance, Sebastian seemed to genuinely care for his daughter, and that was important to him, especially considering all she had endured. She deserved to be happy, and taken care of. But he worried that Marisol would push things too far, too quickly for Evelyn’s comfort. For while the prince was smitten with her, and he thought that she enjoyed his company as well, marriage was perhaps too much too fast. Then again, Evelyn wasn’t getting any younger as she was approaching her thirtieth year rapidly, and the prince would need heirs. Several children, in fact.

“Oh my,” Marisol’s eyes widened in shock. “Did you really do that, Evelyn?”

“I can’t believe you told her that story,” Liviana shot Sebastian a glare. “She doesn’t need to know about all those Tal-Vashoth.”

“But you fighting five massive, rampaging Qunari all at once is one of my favorite memories of you, lass,” he grinned unrepentantly. “Given that you’re the size of their arm.”

“Yes, yes, we all know my sister is death incarnate by now,” Max sighed. “And the rest of us peasants just tremble in her mighty, yet tiny, shadow.”

“Jealous, Maximus?”

“Of you? Hardly. After all, you have to use a flint to light your own fires,” he smirked. “Like a barbarian.”

“Children,” Lady Trevelyan chided gently. 

Choking on his amusement as both adults fell silent at their mother’s admonition, Sebastian pushed his plate back. “Thank you for inviting me, Lady, Lord Trevelyan. This is quite possibly the most enjoyable night I’ve had since taking the throne.”

“Oh, Your Hi- Sebastian,” Marisol blushed furiously. “You do us too much credit.”

“Not at all. Good food, better wine, and the best company I could ask for,” he smiled over at Liviana, his hand reaching out to gently caress hers, much to Marisol’s delight.

“Sebastian,” Liviana scolded him, without any real heat to her tone. “You’re a scamp, do you know that?”

“You wound me,” he withdrew his hand and clutched it to his chest. “I am the gentleman of the first caliber, I assure you.” 

Rolling her eyes at his melodrama yet finding herself unable to help her small smile, Liviana shook her head. “How long are you staying in Ostwick, by the way?”

“I must leave tomorrow for Markham, but I would like to stop by in the morning, to say goodbye, if I may.”

“Of course. It was nice seeing you again,” she replied as she rose from her seat.

Sebastian’s gaze turned warmer, his lyrium blue eyes brimming with heat. “Will you miss me?”

Trying to ignore the odd churning in her suddenly cold stomach, Liviana simply nodded. “Perhaps.”

“I suppose I deserve that,” he chuckled. “Lord Trevelyan, might I have a word with you in private before I go? Just a business matter,” he assured Liviana at her questioning glance.

“Of course,” Philip nodded. “My study is this way.” 

Sebastian began pacing the length of the room before the door had even closed. “My lord, I-” Stopping in front of a bookshelf, he ran one hand through his hair, a sigh tugging at his shoulders. He nodded to himself. “I’d like to ask for your permission to ask for Liv- Evelyn’s hand in marriage. As you know, my brother was the one betrothed to her, but your wife assured me last night that you would still be willing to honor the betrothal contract between my family and yours.”

“We would,” Philip replied slowly. Maker save him, but a prince! His daughter would be a princess. And yet- “You care for her.”

The prince flushed. “I’ve been in love with her for years now, my lord.”

“Call me Philip,” he nodded. It was enough. “After everything she’s endured, Evelyn deserves no less than a man who would love her. And a former brother of the Chantry, as well.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian lit up, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I plan on asking her tomorrow morning when I come by. I want to go into town and find her an engagement ring first. Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“She’s a smart girl,” Philip smiled. “And she seems fond of you as well. I’m sure she’ll agree to the union.”

Outside in the parlor, Max glanced over at his sister where she sat, curled up in an armchair. “You know, you’re happier tonight. With him.”

“With him?” She frowned.

“Sebastian. You like him.”

Sighing, she closed her book. “That’s not it. He reminds me of how I used to be, back in Kirkwall. I thought it would be a bad thing, but surprisingly, it’s not.”

“You do seem very different now as opposed to how you were in Kirkwall,” he mused. “What happened after I left?”

Tugging on her braid, Liviana stared into the fire with distant eyes and shook her head. “A lot of kaffas, that’s what.” The door swung open, and she spotted her father and Sebastian standing in the hallway, her father clapping the younger man on the shoulder and both of them grinning like fools. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Sebastian walked over to her with a warm smile, bending over to brush a kiss against her forehead. Liviana squirmed in her chair. “Have a good night.”

“Good night,” she nodded. 

The door hadn’t been closed for more than three seconds before her mother whirled on her husband.

“Did he ask-”

“Yes.”

“And you gave your permission?”

“Yes, but-”

“Aieeeee! I cannot believe this is happening!” Marisol shrieked in the most unladylike manner possible, her skirts flaring out as she spun in a circle across the room. “Oh! Oh! There is so much to do! I’ll have to send for a seamstress from Orlais, at least, or perhaps Antiva? There should be lace, and lots of it, and oh the guest lists, and-”

“What is wrong with Mother?” Liviana raised an eyebrow.

“-a _wedding_ , oh Maker have mercy, it is truly happening and-”

“Wait- a wedding?” Liviana turned to fix her father with a frozen stare. Philip shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “Who is getting married?”

“Why, you are dear!” Marisol squealed.

“Mari," Philip tried again, pleading with his wife, "He hasn’t asked yet-”

“Mother- no,” she furiously shook her head. “I’m not marrying anyone.”

“You were betrothed as a child, don’t you remember, dear?” Marisol prattled on excitedly. “To Julien Vael, Sebastian’s older brother, Maker rest his soul. But since Julien has now passed, Sebastian has decided to honor the betrothal contract between our families. Isn’t that wonderful? My daughter, a princess!”

“Betroth- Was Sebastian not going to ask me himself?” Liviana demanded, her eyes blazing like thunderclouds.

“He will, tomorrow,” Marisol assured her. “But it’s just a formality. I had the contract reworked this morning and it’s all set. He’s the only one so far willing to marry you, so you-”

“What do you mean _willing_ ,” she cut in angrily.

“Now that you’ve been so damaged,” her mother sighed. “By everything. I haven’t found anyone yet willing to overlook your history, you know. If you don’t marry him, you might never find a husband.”

“Evelyn,” her father said gently, warily eyeing his daughter who had ricocheted to her feet and was standing speechless and fuming in the center of the room, “Sebastian is a kind man, a good man, pious and devout. And he loves you. Not to mention that we could do no better for you than a prince.”

She spat the first thing that came to mind. “But I don’t love him!”

“Love has nothing to do with a marriage,” her mother snapped. “It is your duty to marry, and he is the only one who wants you. So when he comes back tomorrow, you will tell him yes!”

“No,” Liviana whispered. One hand clutched to her chest, her head shook violently, her voice barely a whisper. Then, louder- “No. I don’t want a husband, nor do I _need_ a husband-”

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“I am not being ridiculous,” she seethed. “I am not a slave any longer-”

“No one said you were, dear-”

“And I will not be bartered off and traded! I have more value as a person than the worth placed upon me by a marriage. I will not be made to anything I do not explicitly wish to do. That part of my life is _over_.”

This was not who she was. Two years of playing pretend for her family, and this is where it led her? To be sold off yet again? This was not who she was, and fool she was for thinking a normal life could be possible. She didn’t want this life. Not with the servants and the dresses and the fucking rules of nobility bearing down on her. Suddenly, her little ramshackle apartment in Lowtown seemed appealing and so much more welcoming and she yearned for the squalor and hardness of her past life. She longed for the familiar and comfortable that had been so absent from her life since arriving in Ostwick.

She couldn’t do this.

Whirling on her heel, Liviana raced out of the room, ignoring the shouts of her mother, and fled in the direction of the stable. Not even bothering to saddle up Soleil, she threw one leg over the horse’s bare flank and galloped off into the night.

Hot, angry tears burned a path down her cheek and streamed off into the wind. Her skirts whipped behind her. Dormant fields, laying in wait for the winter, faded into a moonlit blur. The only sounds left in the world were the pounding of her heart and the beat of her horse’s hooves.

_Stupid. Stupid! How could I have not seen this coming! Sebastian doesn’t love me anyhow. If he did, wouldn’t he have written me these last few years? I haven’t heard a word from him since he left Kirkwall! That does not seem like the actions of a man in love. Not that I know what people in love do. But I certainly don’t think they would ignore each other for years then waltz back in the other's life like nothing happened. Not to mention that the only permission Sebastian needed was mine. After everything I’ve been through, shouldn’t he have realized that? I will not be treated like an object, like a bag of flour or a pretty bauble._

The rhythmic staccato of a second horse came closer. _Max_. Silently, he reigned in his mount to trot next to hers, Soleil having slowed down to a meandering pace. Liviana paused next to a tree, and slipped off and down to the cold grass. She shivered. Sliding off his own horse, Max sat next to her and curled his arm around her shoulders, letting her rest her head upon his chest.

“Do you think I should marry him, too?” she murmured after a few minutes.

“I think you should do what you want to do,” he replied. “Marriage or not. You’re more than capable without a husband. It should be your choice, not theirs.”

Her fingers gripped his shirt tighter. “...I’ve spent my entire life living by someone else’s rules. If I marry Sebastian, it would just be more of the same. Stricter rules of the nobility and the royal court. And I swear, every time I see him, he’s apologizing to me for something he said or did. It shouldn’t be like that, should it? I don’t want to argue with someone every day for the rest of my life. I don’t- I don’t want a marriage like Mother and Father’s. I want-” - _love like Alistair and Elissa_. “Something more.”

“As you should,” Max soothed. “Noble marriages are a load of shit anyways. I mean, Mother and Father seem to tolerate each other well enough, but that’s hardly what you want.”

“No,” she shook her head, sniffling. “I just want someone to accept me the way I am, and let me live on my own terms. Free. I almost had that, you know. A life to myself. Kirkwall wasn’t all that bad. I had friends, and work. I did meaningful stuff sometimes. And then Volesus had to find me and fuck everything up and- argh!” Her fist slammed into the dirt.

“Volesus?”

“My master’s brother,” she replied quietly. “He found me. After you left Kirkwall.” A slow breath deflated her lungs. “Varric and Isabela rescued me.”

Max froze under her hands. “I’m so sorry, Cat-”

“Don’t apologize,” she shook her head. “You had nothing to do with it. But ever since then- I can’t go back to Kirkwall. I can’t go back to the memories of blood and fire and Varric is there, and everytime I think of him, I’m back in that cell and I just _can’t_. So I’ve stayed here, because where else would I go? I don’t want to be a wandering mercenary anymore. But all of these expectations, I’ve tried, I really have, but I cannot do this. I can’t marry Sebastian.”

“And you don’t have to,” Max's voice was firm.

“Mother will hate me if I don’t,” Liviana felt her tears, heavy and bitter, well up again. “I’ve worked so hard to make her proud of me, but she just keeps wanting more and more of me, and Father, he looked so disappointed in me. What am I supposed to do?”

Arms wrapped around her as she turned to face his chest more fully, his hand gently stroking her head as she sobbed into him. Exhaling a deep sigh, Max spoke into her hair. “The First Enchanter asked if I’d be willing to go to the Conclave the Divine is holding as Ostwick Circle’s representative. You’ve heard of it, right? It’s the Chantry’s attempt to negotiate a peace between the mages and templars, down in Ferelden where the Hero of Ferelden found Andraste’s Ashes. I’ve heard the fighting is terrible in Ferelden and Orlais. First Enchanter Morrowick wants to go himself, but he’s old, with a lame hip. So I’m going instead. Come with me. Father mentioned he might go, but I bet he would be fine with letting you go in his stead. Come with me, and after it’s over, we’ll figure out what to do. We can leave here, together if you’d like. Go somewhere new and start a new life together.”

“What if the Circles reform?” She mumbled.

“They won’t,” he replied. “Not unless the templars agree to many changes, and I don’t see that happening, to be honest. And if they decide to annul all the mages, well.”

“I won’t let them,” she replied fiercely. “They won’t have you.”

“There’s my fierce little sister,” he patted her head. “So you’ll come with me?”

“I will. Varric is there as well, He sent me a letter the other day. He mentioned he’s in the company of a Seeker, but whether she’s a person or a dragon in human form, I’m not quite sure, from the way he tells it,” she snorted. 

“Will you be okay seeing him again?” Max asked.

“I guess we’ll find out,” she sighed. “My nightmares haven’t been as bad recently, so maybe I’m getting over it. Haven is a new place too, and probably completely different from Kirkwall and Ath Velanis. I should be okay. And you’ll be there.”

“Always, Kitty Cat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa, extra long chapter. and feisty Cat is back!
> 
> And Haven!


	39. Across the Waking Sea

“I can’t marry you.”

Liviana had been waiting for him outside on the veranda when he arrived bright and early the next morning, not wishing to prolong the inevitable. Sebastian had lit up when he spotted her, but one look at her resigned expression and his jog had slowed to a stately walk. 

“Oh,” Sebastian visibly swallowed. “Your father told you, then.”

“Not precisely.” Leaning her forearms against the stone railing, she dropped her head and sighed. “My mother figured it out for herself and could not contain herself.” _Damaged. Tainted. Who would want you?_

“I had hoped…” Sebastian bit his lip as he slumped against the column. “You know I love you. I know you do not feel the same way about me as I do you, but I had hoped, with time, you would come to love me as well. You would not want for anything, I swear to you. If it is within my power, I would grant you your heart’s desire.”

“What I want is not within your grasp,” she replied quietly. “I care for you, Sebastian. But I do not want that sort of life. The machinations of the nobility are bad enough, but the royal court? I would lose my mind within a fortnight.”

“You would be brilliant,” he murmured.

“No, I would not,” she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I never meant…” her voice trailed off. “I will always hold the memories we shared fondly. I never wanted it to come to this." _But if he had just talked to me first, all of this could have been avoided._

“I understand,” his bright eyes, clouded now with his hurt, flicked up to hers. Moving towards her, he raised one hand and grazed her cheek with his calloused thumb, staring down at her with all the emotions he forever wore on his sleeve. “I am sorry, as well. Causing you pain was the last thing I ever wanted.”

Mutely, she nodded, even though she raged within. _Then you shouldn’t have left me. You should have stayed, and kept your word._

And the more she thought about, the more furious she became. How dare he waltz up after all these years, professing to still love her? After leaving her like he did, after not even attempting to write her? He may not have known she was in Ostwick, but he could have tried to write Varric. The dwarf was easy to find, and he knew where she was. But no. Only now, after he found her here, did he decide he still wanted her. Like a child’s toy that fell behind a cabinet, forgotten and rediscovered, and was suddenly new again. She was not a thing anymore. And she would waste no more of her time or emotions on Sebastian Vael.

“Goodbye, Sebastian.”

“Goodbye, Liviana.” A quick kiss on her forehead, and Prince Sebastian Vael retreated in his defeat. And Liviana felt nothing.

Her mother proceeded to ignore her for the next two weeks. Philip’s face appeared drawn and weary, no doubt bearing the brunt of his wife’s ire and displeasure along with the door hinges and frames around the mansion, but Liviana could not find it within herself to feel sorry for his state and rebuffed all his attempts at conversation. _Giving his permission? For my life? Regardless of his antiquated, patriarchal noble traditions, he should have known. They all should have known._

Max and her had left Ostwick the second weeking of Haring, accompanied by one of the templars from Ostwick Circle, one of the few who had remained behind for lack of another place to go. Ser Donovan Nellor was an older man, quiet and assured, and Max for the most part didn’t mind his company.

“He’s nothing like the templars in the Gallows,” he told her before they left. “Ser Donovan is a reasonable sort. Kind of reminds me of Ser Thrask, actually. Except quieter.”

Huddling deeper into her cloak, Liviana stared out across the dark gray sea. Max was down below in their cabin. How she enjoyed the blasted roll of the ship, he would never understand, he grumbled. “People aren’t meant to be on the ocean. If we were, we’d have fins and gills.” Ser Donovan remained below, as well. The templar said he didn’t feel comfortable wandering the deck without his armor, and as wearing heavy plate was generally discouraged on ships in case of rough waves, he elected to stay in his room, across from Max’s. Templars were strange.

Thinking of templars made her think of Cullen, and Rylen. Varric had told her in one of his letters at the beginning of the year that the Starkhaven templars had been recalled back to their city shortly before the Lord Seeker had severed ties with the Chantry. He made no mention of what happened to the Kirkwall Knight-Captain. Had Cullen stayed? Or left with the left of his brethren, to roam the countryside and comb the forests, in search of apostates? The last she had heard from him was slightly after she reached Ostwick, in a letter he penned in response to hers. 

_I’m glad you are alright, and I hope the visit with your parents goes well. Although, I will admit I hope you return to ~~ ~~me~~~~ the city soon. Kirkwall is quiet without you._

Only a few sentences, hardly worth saving, but for some reason, Liviana had kept the little scrap of paper that contained his neat scrawl tucked into her bag, the parchment worn fuzzy along the creases. She missed him. It was the only explicable excuse. She missed his wry humor, his sarcasm, his no-nonsense way of looking at things. Everything just made more sense when she was with him. Not to mention the way he made her feel. Whole, valued for who she was, with all she was. Normal. Rylen, too. Maker, that man could make her laugh like no other. Even his shameless flirting amused her. Wherever they were, she hoped they were alright.

Even if she ever saw Cullen again, could she face him? After her Fade dream… She shook her head. It didn’t mean anything. Just because she had dreamed of a home with him didn’t mean a single thing. He was her family, just as much as Hawke or Isabela was. That’s all. If anything, the sight of her sword embedded in his gut disturbed her more. If she was captured again, and ordered to kill her friends, would she do it? She’d like to say no, but...

No. She’d rather die that submit ever again. But there were worse things than death.

She also had to steel herself to see Varric again. She meant what she told Max, she really did not think it would be an issue. Her brother would be with her, and she associated nothing of Ath Velanis or Volesus with him. And Haven was as far from Kirkwall and magisters and demons as she could get, by all accounts a simple mountain village high in the Frostbacks. There would be many mages there, it was true, but there would also be templars there, and the Chantry’s people. It would be fine. She would be fine. She was stronger now. Maker, she had even stood up to her mother. Fiddling with her halla pendant, Liviana sighed. 

The ship docked in Highever, a quaint little coastal town, with a solid fortified castle encircled by dozens of shops and cottages, the entire thing surrounded with sprawling farmland. And snow. So much snow. Drawing her hood over her hair, Liviana led the two others through the throng in search of an inn. It seemed as if everyone was in the streets today.

“Fuck,” Maxwell muttered at her side. “I don’t think the things we brought will be warm enough, Cat. I know they said it was cold, but this is- bollocks.”

“Shut it,” she growled. “At least you have magic to keep you warm.”

“Yes, but the thinner my clothes are, the more mana I have to use to keep myself warm.”

“We’ll find a place to stay for tonight, and tomorrow before we head out, we’ll buy some things. Ser Donovan?” She glanced over. “Do you need anything from the markets?”

“I’m fine,” the grizzled templar smiled. “Don’t concern yourself with me, my lady.”

“Not a lady,” Liviana grumbled to herself. “That looks like an inn. Say a prayer they have a room left.”

***

The journey to Haven took twelve days. Twelve of the coldest, most miserable days of which she could ever conceive. A couple nights they were able to find an inn to sleep in, and once Ser Donovan had paid a farmer and his wife to let them stay in their barn, but more often than not, they camped outside. The oiled canvas tent they had brought from home, even with the thick bearskin furs they purchased in Highever barely held in any heat, and Liviana ended up sleeping huddled between Ser Donovan and Maxwell, the latter offering himself up as a human furnace courtesy of his magic.

There were plenty of trampled clearings alongside the road, thanks to the probably hundreds of travelers who were also headed to the Conclave. And traveling with a mage meant that they could always sleep on a dry patch of dirt, instead of on top of wet snow like other poor sods she witnessed. Still. She missed walls. A roof. And feeling her toes and nose.

“I’m dying,” Max groaned, his boots crunching through the snow.

“You have a tiny cold. You’re hardly dying,” Liviana snapped. “Aren’t you a healer? Heal yourself.”

“I can’t heal a cold,” he whined piteously. “I need something to focus my magic on. Like a broken bone, or a swollen or strained muscle. With a cold, there’s nothing for me to see. Just pain and despair and a light at the end of the tunnel. I think I have a fever. Mother, is that you?”

“Oh for the love of-” Sighing, she paused and pulled off her glove impatiently, holding the back of her hand to his forehead. “You do feel a little warm. We should reach Haven by this evening. We’ll set up camp, and you can lie down there.”

“If I even make it.”

“You definitely won’t make it, if you keep that up. I’ll throw you off this mountain.”

“At least my suffering will be over.”

Behind them, Ser Donovan muffled a cough, the sound mysteriously akin to a laugh. Liviana rolled her eyes. “Men. Such babies.”

“I’m a delicate flower,” Max protested. “I lived in a Circle my whole life. Stone walls, slippers, regular meals, no hiking or camping or anything more strenuous than climbing the stairs or more hazardous than the occasional fire and dust allergies.”

“And demons.”

“Those were rare, too,” he replied with a withering glare. “Ser Donovan, how many demons have you seen over the course of your service? You’ve been a templar, what, almost twenty years?”

“Aye. Eleven,” the man supplied. “Never forgot any of them.”

“That’s it?” Liviana raised an eyebrow. “Eleven demons was a regular Tuesday night in Kirkwall.”

“Kirkwall was a shithole, we’ve already established that,” Max shot back. “Why you stayed there willingly, I’ll never know.”

“I asked myself the same thing for years,” she sighed.

Max’s complaints faded the higher they climbed. All conversation was put on hold. The howling wind turned sharper in the narrow mountain pass, the air thinner, and it took all of Liviana’s concentration to just put one foot in the other, her lungs and thighs screaming in protest. Her exposed skin felt like it was being slashed with a thousand minuscule knives, the sting of the wind whipping through her cloak and the trees that lined the path. Brushing away the tears from her watering eyes before they had a chance to freeze on her cheek, Liviana adjusted her pack and kept climbing.

After what felt like an eternity, the path leveled out onto a high plateau. Myriads of tents and campfires dotted the valley below as fur- and wool-clad people went about their business. Accents and different languages filled the air from every direction. It seemed as if the entirety of Thedas had turned out for the Divine’s Conclave. She even thought she spotted a few Qunari towering above the crowd. _Tal-Vashoth? Why would they be here? If they are of the Qun, you’d think that they would have sent one of their elven or human agents instead._

“Welcome to Haven,” a guard nodded as they approached. “If you’re looking for a place to camp, there’s space left on the far western side. The town proper is down that path, and across the bridge, if you’re looking for the tavern or the Chantry. You’ll see the gates. And the Temple of Sacred Ashes is up that way,” he pointed to a trail lined with flags and banners.

Picking their way through the crowd, Ser Donovan spotted a small clearing on the edge of a copse of evergreens. He had the tent set up in no time. Sniffling, Max sent a heat spell through the ground to dry and warm the dirt, and crawled in.

“I can go to the tavern and see if I can find some broth, or something,” Liviana crouched in the entrance to the tent, one hand holding back the flap. “You stay here and get some rest, alright?”

Too tired to muster up a witty reply, Max merely nodded, and curled deeper into his blankets. “Would you like me to stay with you, Trevelyan?” Ser Donovan poked his head in. Max shook his head.

“Just gon’ sleep.”

Letting the flaps fall shut, the templar rose. “If it’s alright with you, my lady, I’m going to go find a few colleagues I saw on the way in.”

“You’re not in my service, Ser Donovan,” Liviana pointed out. “You’re free to come and go as you please.”

“True,” he smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you would be okay on your own here.”

She realized the man had no idea what she was capable of, knowing just that she was Max’s noble sister from Ostwick. Resisting the urge to laugh, Liviana just inclined her chin. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Scanning the people milling about, Liviana wondered where Varric would be. Was it even worth the time to try to find him? A hacking cough from inside the tent made her decision. Max needed food first, something more than the dried jerky and hard biscuits they had with them. Perhaps there was even an apothecary or two in the village. With all these people, there had to be at least one. And after she got him settled, she could wander around and look for her friend.

The guards were different, she noticed as she walked. Eyeing the insignia on their armor, Liviana wracked her brain to try and remember her lessons. The sunburst and eye was for the Seekers, but with the sword? It didn’t ring a bell. _Maybe they’re Chantry soldiers? Do Chantry guards have their own insignia that’s different from the sunburst?_ Shrugging to herself, she put it out of her mind for now.

Briskly striding across the bridge, weaving in and out of pockets of people, Liviana heard the sounds of civilization before she saw the walls. The chime of a hammer striking an anvil rang out through the air, and the hiss of a red-hot blade being quenched in water let her know a forge was nearby. And where there was a forge, there was a town. There were the gates, just up ahead, and across from what appeared to be a training ground. Tents in neat, even rows were spread out alongside a frozen lake with several recruits being put through the most basic of stances. Making sure her swords and daggers were secure, Liviana watched them with idle interest. _Does the Divine expect trouble here? I had heard the fighting was bad in Ferelden, but this looks like they’re preparing for all out war. Maybe an Exalted March?_

The heavy wooden gates were thrown open, flanked by two guards who kept a sharp eye on the people that milled in and out of the village. With a nod to one, Liviana slipped inside the walls, her nose and ears leading her up a path to the right to what she assumed could only be the tavern, judging by the shouts and smell of mutton and ale. “The Singing Maiden,” she read the sign out front.

Liviana flagged down a pretty brunette behind the bar, and was delighted to find that yes, there was a stew of sorts on the menu for the day. Ordering two bowls, with a bit of extra silver tossed in so she could take the bowls out of the building just in case she didn’t bring it back, she leaned against the wall to wait and watch the other patrons.

The room was full of mostly humans, as was typical for any establishment, with a few elves and dwarves scattered here and there. None of the Qunari were within the walls that she had seen, for their own safety, no doubt. The Qunari’s attack on Kirkwall still left echoes in southern Thedas. But for the most part, the people in here were well-behaved. A testament to the Chantry’s holy atmosphere that permeated this place. No one wanted to get rip roaring drunk when they were this close to the Divine.

Covering the bowls with a tin plate and wrapping it all in a cloth she had brought, Liviana thanked the barkeep and headed back out, pausing as the wind shifted and brought the light fragrance of elfroot and embrium with it. She glanced up, and spotted a small sign outside of another cabin. _Apothecary._

“Yes?” An older man glanced up from his workbench as she entered. “What can I do for you?”

“My brother’s sick,” Liviana explained. “Just a cold, I think, although I don’t like the sound of his cough.”

“Master Taigen, I have the spindleweed you asked for,” a dark-haired man brusquely pushed the door open.

“Ah, thank you Adan,” he nodded. “Remind me to ask you to fetch my notes later on, I left them behind this morning. Now, a bad cough you say?” Reaching into one of the chests over by the wall, Taigen rummaged around a few moments before emerging with a small vial of a dark murky liquid. He tipped the contents of another beaker in the vial, and swirled it around. “Here. One tablespoon after he takes his meal, no eating or drinking anything for an hour after. You can give him up to four spoonfuls a day. If he’s not better in two days, come and see me again.”

Liviana took the vial. “Thank you, messere. How much do I owe you?”

“Five silvers should do it.”

Counting out the sum, Liviana thanked the man again, and headed back out into the cold. She’d get back to Max, get the food and medicine in him, and then come back to the village to look for Varric. The place wasn’t that big, so it shouldn’t be that hard to find one loud-mouthed dwarf, right? Pulling her cloak in closer, she turned back to the path that led back to camp.

A familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Liviana?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward place to end the chapter, I know, but at least you don't have to wait long to find out who it was!


	40. Seeker of Truth

“Liviana?”

She hadn’t heard that particular brogue in awhile. With a wide grin, Liviana spun around and laughed, her arms held open in welcome. “Rylen! What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, lass,” the templar smiled back and grabbed her proffered forearm. “You’re the last person I would’ve expected to see here.”

“And why is that?”

He snorted. “You are, as you so delicately put it, allergic to all things Chantry and bullshit. Or has that changed?”

Giggling, she shrugged. “I’m here with my brother,” she replied. “He’s here as a representative of Ostwick Circle.”

“That’s right, the enchanter,” he nodded. “I came here with Rutherford. Or Commander, I suppose he is now.”

“Cullen is here? And Commander?” Liviana’s eyes flew open. Cullen was here? Not that she didn’t ever want to see him again, but here? _Now_?

“Aye. Chantry’s thinking about restarting the Inquisition, so they asked Rutherford to take charge of the army. I’m his second.”

Inquisition? She never heard the term before, but instead of asking Rylen for more clarification, Liviana just summoned what she hoped was a genuine smile to her face. “That’s wonderful.”

“Ach,” he noticed the bowls dangling from one hand in its cloth, “I didn’t realize you were taking food. If you get a chance, come back later. I’ll buy you a pint and we’ll catch up. Maybe you can even drag Rutherford from his work long enough to unwind for a spell. The man is nearing obsession.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she smiled. “I’ll catch you later then. Probably tomorrow, I meant to go find Varric later this evening.”

“Oh, him. He’s up in the village, in the cabins to the left of the Chantry. Just follow the crowd, he’s usually out by the fire after supper telling his wild stories to any who will listen,” Rylen chuckled. 

“Thanks, Rylen,” she nodded.

Cullen was here. She could still remember the way he held her, how he had gaze down so tenderly at her, admiration and desire and love all tangled up in one heated look. His arms, warm and firm, clutching her tight to his solid chest. The sound of his heartbeat, reverberating through her head. But no. That wasn’t Cullen. That was just some illusion conjured up by the Fade and fueled by Aurelian Titus’ tainted magic and Maric Theirin’s blood. The real Cullen would not feel like that, would not look at her like that, was still alive. The real Cullen didn’t love her. He was her friend. That was all.

But it was more than just that. She hadn’t wanted to leave, even after she killed him. Her shameless begging still haunted her darker thoughts. Even though she had known from the start that it wasn’t right, that the world she found herself in wasn’t real, the arena rising up all around her and her Doctore watching with that piercing eagle-eyed gaze of his, she hadn’t wanted to leave. The lie was preferable to reality. A lie forged by blood magic and demons. What did that say about her?

Love. If Sebastian had taught her anything, it was that love like the stories spoke of didn’t exist, not really. _But King Alistair and Queen Elissa- Just because they had been happy to see each other after months apart didn’t mean anything._ She had seen married couples before, who grew extremely fond of their mate, with an affectionate sort of love between them. Real, true all-encompassing romantic love- it was a myth just as griffons were. To need another person like you needed the very air, why, the idea was ridiculous. She loved her brother. And her friends. It was enough.

“Hey,” she ducked into the tent, shaking the mud off her boots. “Brought some stew. And a potion, for after you’re done eating. It was made by a master, so it should work fairly well. You might want to heat the food back up though.”

Wearily, Max pushed himself up to sit and sent a small thread of mana into the earthenware bowl. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “‘S good.”

“Heat mine up too, will you?” She felt her own bowl grow warm against her palms. Sighing as the heat seeped into her frozen body, Liviana dug in. Together they ate in silence, only the sounds of slurps and chewing, punctuated by the occasional sniffle and cough, marring the quiet. “Here,” she poured him a spoon of the potion. “Master Taigen said you can take four spoons a day, and don’t eat or drink anything for an hour after. If it’s not better day after tomorrow, I’ll go back. Honestly, you can’t heal anything?”

“Don’t you think if I could, I would have already,” he grumbled. “Can’t heal what I can’t see.”

“And they say magic is useful,” she snorted. “Hey! Don’t set my blanket on fire!”

“Stop acting like a brat, then,” he retorted peevishly.

“I’m acting like a brat? You’re the one whining and setting my shit on fire.”

“Just stab it,” he suggested. “You’re good at that. Isn’t that how you solve most your problems anyhow?”

“I’m going to stab you if you don’t shut it.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

Flinging her blanket atop her brother, Liviana snatched his bowl up. “I’m going to take these back. Do not burn the tent down while I’m gone. And don’t summon any demons either.”

“I’ll try,” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “The demons would actually be nice to me, though. And warm.”

“Keep that up, and I’ll drag Ser Cullen back here just so he can smite your ass.”

“The Knight-Captain is here?” Max lifted his head warily.

“That’s what I heard,” she shrugged. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Fine,” his head dropped back down to his bedroll. “I’ll just die here then.”

“Spoiled little mage lordling,” she muttered under her breath as she stepped back out.

“I heard that!”

Resisting the urge to go back in and smother her only sibling, Liviana marched back off into the darkness, following the line of torches that marked the path to Haven. She could hear the constant buzz of conversation all around her, with the occasional laugh, and even a few songs drifting by on the wind. Keeping her head down, she trudged back to the village. Maferath’s frozen balls, it was getting even colder at night. The thick woolen scarf that was draped around her neck provided some comfort, but her mouth and nose were still raw and burning, so she tugged the coarse material up over her face to protect it from the elements a bit more. 

The barkeep was surprised when Liviana popped back in to leave her bowls, shouting her thanks over the din that filled the tavern. Many more people were crammed within the heated building, giving rise to a sense of claustrophobia and anxiety that increased the longer she stayed inside. As soon as she shouldered her way to the bar, she was gone again.

Inhaling deep of the wide open air, coughing a bit as her dry throat protested the action, Liviana scanned the people by the nearest campfire. It was hard to tell who was who, with all the layers that people were wearing, but that voice…

“And then Hawke leapt off the boulder and landed right on the dragon’s back, his bladed staff held aloft while his brave, dwarven friend steadied his crossbow, aimed, and fired… Right into the dragon’s eye! Just as flames engulfed the massive beast-”

“Rubbish,” Liviana shouted from the back of the gathered crowd. “The dwarf could never have made that shot.”

“Oh, but he did,” Varric’s head swiveled around, trying to find the lone dissenter. “You should’ve heard the way it roared in pure agony, and-”

“The way I recall it,” Liviana stepped into the ring of light, a wide smirk upon her lips, “You shot the dragon in the flank and the crossbolt ricocheted off the scales and knocked Fenris out cold, and Hawke fell ass over head backwards off the dragon and landed in a pile of its feces. I killed that dragon, you bloody liar.”

“Firefly!” Varric’s face lit up. “I was just getting to that part, you know.”

“Sure you were,” she snorted. “It’s good to see you, Var.” And it was. The sensation of dread and the memories of Ath Velanis that she had been dreading never came. Maybe it was too cold for her recall to function properly, or maybe she had healed from that particular trauma. Who knew.

Pulling her off to the side, Varric wrapped his arms around her in a bracing hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Came with Max,” she answered. “He’s back in the tent, with a fatal case of the sniffles, apparently. There’s a templar we came with too around here somewhere. A Ser Donovan. How have you been?”

“I’m alive,” he shrugged. “Survived the Seeker’s interrogation, and the trip here. And this fucking weather. Speaking of the Seeker, if she finds out you’re here, she’ll probably want to talk to you, too.”

“Me? Why?”

“To find out if your story matches mine, would be my guess,” he replied. “Don’t worry, I doubt she would stab you as well.”

“Stab me- Varric. Do I need to have words with this Seeker?”

“You know,” he eyed her. “I think she might actually give you a run for your money. Now that’s one fight I could get people to pay good silver to see. Maybe even gold.”

She rolled her eyes. “Two years away, and you suddenly have such little faith in me. I’m hurt.”

“You haven’t met Cassandra Pentaghast,” he muttered darkly. “Anyways. What have you been up to recently? You never answered my last letter.”

“Insanity,” she shook her head. “Did you know Sebastian showed up in Ostwick? He got challenged to a duel at a party I was at, somehow got me to fight as his champion, then asked me to marry him. Or he was going to ask me to marry him. He asked my father, so they assumed it was a done deal.”

“Really? So should I be calling you Your Highness now?” He yelped as she smacked him on his arm. “Don’t abuse the dwarf!”

“You know I said no,” she retorted. “My parents are pissed though. My mother’s barely said two words to me since Sebastian left.”

“So not going back home, I take it?”

“I’m not sure,” she sighed. “It’s just Max and me for now. I’m not sure where to go.”

“Still not keen on returning to Kirkwall, huh?” She shook her head. Stroking his chin, Varric considered her options for a moment. “Didn’t King Alistair offer you a job?”

“That’s right, he did,” she remembered. 

“Could go to Denerim after this. You’re in Ferelden anyhow. And he has a more lenient view on mages than most nobles, he’d probably be okay with giving Max work too. Especially since your brother is a healer.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“When do I not have good ideas, Firefly? Don’t answer that. Shit, there’s the Seeker right now,” he peered behind her. “You got two options. Run now, or stay and answer all of her extensive questions.”

“I’ll stay. I rather want to meet this person that you think could beat me,” Liviana grinned as Varric fidgeted in his place.

“I didn’t say she could, I said she’d give you a good fight at least. Good evening, Seeker Pentaghast. Lovely evening we’re having.”

“Ugh,” the fierce, dark-haired beauty scowled down at his glib tongue. “Master Tethras. And who is this?”

“Allow me to introduce my dear friend and companion, Liviana,” he presented her with a flourish.

“Liviana?” Her sharp gaze snapped to the woman. “You are the one who was in Kirkwall with Hawke? The former slave and gladiator?”

“I am,” Liviana nodded.

“I wonder if you would have time to meet with me. Tomorrow, perhaps. I have a few questions I was hoping you might be able to answer,” her voice, that Nevarran accent reminded Liviana of a certain guard. A guard who had let a scruffy woman and a elven child pass into Nevarra without papers, so many years ago. She smiled in spite of herself.

“I would be delighted to help in any way I can.” Beside her, Varric masked his laugh with an abrupt cough.

“Sorry,” he rasped. “Something stuck in my throat.”

Glaring down at the man for a moment longer, Cassandra returned her steely gaze to the other woman. “At dusk, then. Come to the Chantry. I will be waiting there.”

Liviana sketched a bow, and watched as the Seeker stalked back out down the path. “What was that?”

“You. Being delighted to help the Chantry,” Varric chuckled. 

“I was being polite. Besides, I think you’re right. She looked like she could crush my head with her legs,” she replied.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch what you said there. I’m what?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Liviana shoved his shoulder. “I should head back and check on Max. I’ll probably be up at the temple tomorrow, but after I meet up with your Seeker, I’ll come find you. And Rylen. He promised me a pint.”

“Alright,” he laughed. “See you tomorrow, Firefly.”

Drawing her hood back over her head, Liviana paused as the bottom of the steps that led into the village. From here, she could see the encampment, pale moonlight spilling across the frozen lake and the snow-covered trees that lined the mountain ridge. Cullen was down there right now. She could just go and say hi for a few seconds. It would be easy. Just walk to the largest tent, that was probably his, poke her head in, and say hello.

Or she could wait until tomorrow. Yes, that was better. It was late anyhow, and since Max probably wouldn’t feel up to going to the Conclave, she would have to go in his place. Technically as the representative for the Trevelyans, she should have gone anyways, but Max agreed with her that she would hate it and find it all terribly dull, and that he would just tell her what happened and they could pretend she went.

Ser Donovan was back at the tent when she arrived, reclining on his bedroll and reading by Max’s magelight. Max was sprawled out on his back, staring vacantly at the ceiling. “Did you find Varric?” he asked as she stepped inside.

“I did. There’s a Seeker that wants to talk to me tomorrow. About what happened in Kirkwall.”

“You were in Kirkwall?” Ser Donovan glanced up. “When that mage blew up the Chantry and murdered the Grand Cleric?”

“I was,” she dropped to her bedroll and toed off her boots. “I was friends with Garrett Hawke, the Champion. Anders was…” A heavy sigh deflated her shoulders. “None of us saw it coming. We should have, in retrospect, but we never thought he…”

“It must have been a trying time,” Ser Donovan replied quietly.

“It was. Hey Max. How did that potion work out? Do you think you’d feel up to going to the Conclave tomorrow, or should I?”

“It helped a bit,” he mumbled. “I should be able to go though. I know you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind. I’d rather you rest up and get better, honestly.”

“Aw, worried about me?”

“Tired of hearing you bitch and moan is more like it.”

A soft chuckle broke into their spat. “You remind me of me and my sister,” Ser Donovan grinned up at them. “We were forever at each other’s throats as children. And adults.”

“Where is she now?” Max asked.

“Died. In childbirth, a few years back, Maker rest her soul.”

“I’m sorry,” Liviana murmured.

“Me too,” the templar sighed. “But I’m glad to see you reunited with your sister, Trevelyan.”

“I am, too. For the most part. She’s mean though,” Max smirked up at her.

“And you’re a pain in my ass,” she snapped back without any real heat. “Now move over, I’m tired and cold.”

“Yes, my lady. I am but your humble servant.”

“Why did I ever agree to come with you?”

“Because you looove me.”

“Ew, Max! You’re getting your runny nose all over my arm!”

“Kitty Cat, love meeee.”

Ser Donovan kept his laughter to himself as the two siblings fought with each other, Max only relenting when his younger sister pummeled him into submission with her fists. As much as he disagreed with the rift between the mages and the templars and Chantry, he realized this, Trevelyan and his sister’s relationship, would never have been possible had things stayed as they were. And for that, he was glad.

***

“Here, I refilled the waterskin. Did you take your potion yet?”

“Yes, Mother,” Max grumbled. “I do feel better today.”

“Another day of rest won’t kill you,” she threw the water at his chest, Max grunting as he caught it with his hands. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. If you feel up to it, the Singing Maiden in Haven is the tavern. To the right as soon as you pass through the gates.”

“Thanks. You’re the best,” he sighed.

“I know,” she snorted. “Remember, no summoning demons to keep you company, Maximilian. Go find Varric if you get lonely and bored.”

“Thank you for your confidence in my moral character, sister dear.”

With a grin, Liviana let the tent flap close and joined the throng of people that were making the long trek up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where Queen Cousland had found Andraste’s Ashes and saved Arl Eamon of Redcliffe’s life ten years ago. Legend had it she and her friends slew a high dragon here as well, and defeated an entire village of cultists. Although, she supposed the high dragon wasn’t a legend. Alistair had told her about the battle.

Shifting towards the edge of the crowd, Liviana’s breath labored in the thin mountain air, puffs of white fog emitting from her mouth with every step. It was strange, walking in the open in her armor without any swords. All she had on her person was a simple dagger, and even that much was technically not allowed by the Divine’s creed, yet she couldn’t fathom being among so many people without some sort of blade at her disposal. Finally, she crested the ridge. And gasped. 

The temple was massive, its face built into the mountain itself. Passing under the double vaulted stone doors, carved in a worn, yet intricate relief, she marveled at the cavernous hall. It certainly felt ancient, and she could easily believe that this place had existed when Andraste walked Thedas. Rubble had been cleared from some of the upper levels, and sunlight streamed in onto the decorated walls and Chantry sigils that lined the stones, dustmotes and snowflakes dancing in the rays of frozen warmth.

The Divine would address them from up there, at the top of the stairs, but there was still some time before she appeared. She could explore a bit. After all, it wasn’t every day one was able to say they had walked in Andraste’s resting place.

Choosing one of the side passages at random, she headed deeper into the temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOoooOOOOOoOoooOoOoOoohhhh!
> 
> The idea of Max summoning a demon to keep him warm and company makes me giggle for some reason.


	41. A Fractured Sky

Fire. Brimstone. Ash. Smoke.

One second, he had been walking back to his tent from the primitive latrines dug at the far end of the camp, smiling at a pretty blonde elf a few tents over, and the next, the entire world shook.

The sky fractured.

Memories of the explosion of Kirkwall’s Chantry came rushing back as screams rent the air, the deafening boom making the very ground beneath his feet tremble with its ferocity. And high above in the clouds, death swirled. A massive rift, spewing shades and demons of rage and terror and despair, dominated the sky above, sickly shades of emerald green leaching into the pristine blue. Flinging a blast of gravity behind him as a rage demon barreled towards him, Max sprinted back to his tent, his cold forgotten for now, and dove inside to snatch up his staff, hesitating only for a moment before he grabbed Liviana’s swordbelt and buckled it to his hips. His sister would need her blades, and he could only pray that he would find her before she was seriously injured. _Although, knowing Cat, she’d just strangle the demons to death with her bare hands._

“Demons! Help!” He heard a man scream. Whirling around, Max started as a crack ripped the air in two, a smaller version of the tear above forming in their very midst. A jagged, spindly limb reached through the rift, an otherworldly shriek chilling the blood in his veins. From somewhere behind him, he heard a woman sob.

This would not be how it ended. Forcing his leaden arms and legs to _move, dammit_ , Max lifted his staff and shoved a wall of force straight into the demon, crushing it beneath his magic. Still holding on to his mana, he gently probed the tear. He could feel the Veil bleeding here, as thin as wet parchment, the energy of the Fade pulsing just a heartbeat away. What in the world was going on?

“Demons have overrun the top of the mountain!” A soldier came barreling down the path, his face and leathers streaked with soot and ichor. “The Commander needs any able-bodied person who’s able to fight up there!”

A few others along with Max volunteered, and began the trek up to where the Temple of Sacred Ashes stood. Or rather, had stood. Stuttering to a halt, his breath caught in his throat, Max stared out in horror at the devastation. Just the skeleton of the temple remained, the heavy stone bricks reduced to dust and rubble. It was chaos, the din of battle echoing all around the valley, swords hissing against burning flesh, the screams of the dying and wounded pressing in around him and he couldn’t _breathe_ , it was too much-

“You, there! Mage! This is your doing, isn’t it?!”

“What?” Max’s head jerked up. “I have no idea what’s going on!”

“Lies!” A man in tattered finery stalked up to him, fury and agony blazing in every step, an arrow trained on his chest. “Only magic could have caused this, you killed the Divine and my brother! You will pay, you filthy-”

“Stop.” The booming voice cut across the noble’s rage. A tall, sturdy man clad in plate reminiscent of a templar pushed the noble down and away. “This is no time for that! If you’ve got anger to spare, focus on the demons first. You-” Piercing aqua eyes cut over to where Max stood, still rooted to the ground. “What’s your specialization?”

 _That’s where I know him from. He’s the templar that showed up in the Gallows the day I left for Ostwick. Ser Shaggy Hair, I called him. I was teasing Cat about Ser Cullen that day. Cat. Where are you?_ “Healer, ser. Although I also know a bit of force magic.”

“That’s a Kirkwall specialization,” the templar started, his brogue thick and rough. “Don’t remember you, though. Doesn’t matter. We could use a healer. Follow me.”

Blindly, Max stumbled over the rocks and Maker, were those bones fused to the stones? He shivered as he realized they were. Bodies, contorted into impossible positions, the skin and muscle melted to the bones and dirt, frozen forever in a rictus of terror. There was nothing left of the temple. No one could have survived this. No one.

_No! Cat is strong. And smart. She can’t have died here, not her! ...Andraste save me. I brought her here. I asked her to come with me, this is my fault. Again, my fault she’s- she can’t be dead. She didn’t die when she got lost and taken. She can’t have died here. She can’t, she can’t!_

His foot tripped over a piece of metal. Raising his foot, Max kicked it away as he made to hurry past it. And stopped. Bending over, his fingers brushed the carved brass, smoothing the dirt and dust away only to reveal a lynx, melted along the edges and now deformed. It was a cloak pin. The one Cat always wore.

“Hurry up!” The templar arched his neck back and snapped. 

“This is my sister’s,” Max choked out. “She’s-”

“I’m sorry,” the templar laid his gauntleted hand on his arm. “I truly am. But more will die than just your sister if we don’t hurry. There will be time to mourn her after, and- is that a lynx?” The man’s bright, wide eyes locked onto Max’s. “W-What did you say your sister’s name was?”

“Evelyn Trevelyan,” Max murmured. “But she goes by Liviana.”

“Fuck,” the templar breathed. “Fuck, not her, she-” He swallowed harshly. “I knew her. She was…” Sighing, he scrubbed at his face and yanked off his helm, pushing back his dark hair with a hand. “We’ve got to go.”

Nodding mutely, Max slipped the pin into his pocket. It wasn’t the time.

***

There was no end in sight.

Cullen Rutherford had thought he had seen the worst that magic had to offer, but this… This was beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

Reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow, he nodded at the nearest man, Lieutenant Harrison, a grizzled former miller and Blight veteran that had lost his wife in the mage-templar war. “We should have a few minutes until the next wave. Get that wound seen to.”

“Aye, Commander,” Harrison pressed a dirty rag to his thigh. 

“Ser!” Another recruit ran up to them. “Base camp just sent word that Healer Tasha was killed, as well as Master Taigen. Master Adan is the only one left, and he’s back in Haven.”

“Bloody-” Cullen swore, his shoulders deflating as the reality of the situation sank in. No more healers. No reinforcements. The Divine was dead, and demons kept pouring through the rifts in the Veil. Was this how the end started?

“Commander!” Rylen jogged up with another man in plain leather armor and bearing a staff trailing just a few paces behind, his gaze directed at the ground. “I found another healer!”

“Maybe the Maker is watching over us,” Cullen muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Then, louder, “He’s the only one now. Master Taigen and the other healer are dead. Take him to the camp. And keep two soldiers on him, we can’t afford lose this one.”

“Aye,” flicking a sharp salute, Rylen grabbed the other man’s arm and steered him down another side path.

_Andraste, keep this one alive, please._

“Rift is opening up, ser!”

Rolling his neck, ignoring the burn of his overworked muscles, Cullen gripped his sword and hefted his shield up. “Men! At the ready!”

Another hour or so had passed before he got chance to breathe again, the ground littered with demon carcasses and slick with blood-soaked mud and trampled snow. Leaving Harrison in charge as soon as the man returned while the rift was quiet, Cullen headed back for the camp to take stock of the situation. Briefly, he wondered where Sister Nightingale and Seeker Pentaghast were, if they were having any luck further down the mountain where other rifts had spawned. Gratefully accepting a skin of water someone passed him, Cullen glanced over the others, his gaze whipping back as he spotted a familiar face.

“Trevelyan? You’re the healer Rylen found? What are you doing here?”

“Helping,” Max wearily gestured to all the bodies that were lined up in scattered piles, some moving, most not. His hands and leathers were streaked with blood and grime, his eyes exhausted and dead.

“Do you need lyrium?” At his nod, Cullen glanced behind and barked an order at a recruit that was standing guard near the supply cache. “Did you come alone? Or is you sister somewhere? We could use her, near the main breach.” A long, vacant blink was all the answer he got. “Trevelyan, did you hear me? Where is Liv-”

Max thrust a melted bit of metal at him. Frowning, Cullen took it… And stopped breathing. This was the pin he had given her back in Kirkwall, as a thank you for saving him. He had spotted it in the market one day on a patrol, and on a whim, bought it for her. It was odd. He never did things on whims, least of all buy a gift as expensive as that pin had been for someone he barely knew. At the time, he had justified it as a present for her aid, but…

“I found it. Back there,” Max replied quietly, taking the vial of lyrium someone handed him and uncorking it, but unable to make the final connection between his brain and his arm to drink. “She came here today, because I wasn’t feeling well. I was supposed to come alone, and she was supposed to stay behind, but I was sick, and she told me to rest, and now she’s- she’s-”

“Drink,” Cullen urged, and Max complied. Liviana- Catalina was dead. It seemed an impossible thing. He could still see her mischievous smile, the way the scar on her right cheek tugged at the skin when she teased him, hear the lilt in her voice. She was always so strong, like an impenetrable fortress, and now she was… When was the last time he had written to her? He had kept himself so busy, with the daily operations of Kirkwall, that he never responded to her last letter, had he? That was what, two, three years ago? What kind of friend had he been to her? “I’m sorry.” The words rang hollowly in his head. He was so much more than just sorry, devastated, crushed, but he did not know how to even begin expressing that. Luckily, Maxwell understood.

“Me, too.”

“Healer, we’ve got another one!”

Max waved the two men, bearing a woman with one leg bent at an unnatural position, towards an empty bit of ground. “Put her there.”

“I’ll let you get back to it. If you need more lyrium, ask.”

“I will, Knight-Captain.”

“It’s just Commander now.”

That jolted Max out of his haze for just a split second. “Oh. Okay.”

A runner sprinted up just then, coughing through the smoke and the burn of his lungs, his chest heaving as if he had just sprinted a great distance. “Com- Commander! Urgent news!”

“Yes?” Cullen strode over to the gasping man.

“Rift- woman- fell-”

“Slow down,” he frowned. “What’s going on?”

Gulping down the water he was handed, the runner wiped his mouth and took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “A woman fell out one of the rifts in the center of the Temple, ser. They say- they say Andraste was behind her.”

“A woman?”

“Commander!” Sister Nightingale’s smooth voice called out sharply from across the camp. The fine mesh chainmail that covered her torso jangled faintly as she jogged up, a bow and an almost empty quiver of arrows slung across her back. “Have you heard?”

“About the woman?” Cullen asked. “I just found out. She fell out of a rift?”

“That’s what the reports say,” Leliana nodded. “And that she bears a magical mark on her hand that seems to pulse in time with the Breach.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll have my scouts bring her back to Haven for questioning. How are your men holding up here?”

“Well enough,” he sighed. “But if something doesn’t happen soon…” His voice trailed off as he stared vacantly up at the massive rift, or Breach as the others were calling it, high in the sky. “Everyone is getting tired.”

“Perhaps I might be of assistance?” A bald elf dressed in simple rags, one hand gripping a smooth ironbark staff, approached. “I have some expertise in matters of the Fade. Might I examine this woman’s mark?”

“And who are you?” Leliana’s eyes narrowed dangerously at the apostate.

“I am Solas,” the elf replied. “Just a traveler who was passing through.”

“He’s been helping us fight back the demons,” the scout who had accompanied this Solas informed Leliana. “Saved Charter’s life.”

“Let me send a templar down with you. Just in case,” Cullen muttered in an aside to her.

“Alright,” she agreed. “Solas, was it? We need to hurry. Commander, I’ll send word as soon as I know anything.”

“We’ll hold the line here. For as long as we can.”

“Maker be with you.”

“And you.”

*** 

A frown tugged at her thin lips, one hand brushing away a streak of dirt off her alabaster skin. She had seen this woman before, she was sure of it. It was rare that she ever forgot a face, but this one proved elusive. “Cassandra, do you know her?”

The Seeker’s footsteps echoed off the damp stone walls of the dungeon that rested beneath the Chantry, the chaos and furor of battle muffled down in this dark cavern. Swinging the gate of the little cell where the survivor rested open, Cassandra drew herself to a halt at the sight of her face. “That’s Varric’s friend. I met her yesterday. Liviana, she said her name was.”

“Liviana?” Leliana’s brow furrowed even deeper. “That’s Tevinter.”

“She was a slave before, and a companion of Hawke’s,” Cassandra replied. “Do you think she did this?”

“I don’t know,” Leliana shook her head. “What would she have gained? Could she have been working with another? That’s where I know her from! I met her when I visited Kirkwall. If I recall correctly, she stood on the side of the mages.”

“Her brother is a mage,” the Seeker wracked her memory of the Tale of the Champion. “He was in the Gallows. We need to find him, if he is here,” she muttered darkly.

“We don’t have time. With every hour, the Breach grows, and it threatens to consume everything. If we don’t find a way to stop it, and the demons, there is no hope,” Leliana let her head fall into one hand, a frustrated growl tearing at her throat. “Blood and ashes!”

“I might have a solution to that,” Solas glanced up from Liviana’s side. “I believe this mark is tied to the Breech. It may be able to close the rifts.”

“Truly?” Cassandra’s eyes flicked down to the prone woman in surprise. “When will she awake so we can test it?”

“I’m not sure,” Solas admitted. “I’ve stabilized her as best I can; there is nothing left for me to do here. With your leave, I’d like to return to the mountain. I’d be more useful up there right now, while we wait for her to awaken.”

“Of course,” Leliana beckoned one of her scouts over. “Breck, take Solas up to the forward camp.”

“I’d like to stay here. If she did do this, if she killed the Divine…” Cassandra scowled down at her feet. “She is our only suspect for now.”

“And it seems, our only hope,” Leliana murmured. “I will stay here as well, until she awakens. I want to hear her excuses for myself.”

*** 

Grunting as he felt a claw rip across his bicep, warm blood burning through the laceration, Cullen shoved his shield into the demon and grit his teeth as he ignored the bright pain that lanced through his sword arm, and drove his blade down through its chest and into the dirt. He was getting sloppy with each wave of demons that spawned from the rift, his exhausted hanging around his neck like a leaden noose. Above him, the Fade crackled again, and glowed. More were coming. Would this finally be it?

He bit back a curse as a terror demon erupted from the ground underneath him, throwing him off balance just enough for him to stumble back three steps. A monstrous face screamed over him. Raising its talon, blood red eyes bored into his, and Cullen scrabbled for his sword. If he was going to die, he was determined to take this bloody demon with him. He lifted his blade-

And blinked, as a smaller figure launched itself right at the middle of the demon, twin blades arcing through the air and down into its gut. Wrenching her swords free, the person turned back towards him, and smirked. It was a face, dirty and smudged and yet the most beautiful visage he had ever seen, that he had expected to never see again.

“Why am I always saving you, Knight-Captain? Nice hair, by the way.”

“Catalina!” Cullen gaped up at her. A huge grin broke through his daze, and he grabbed her hand as she helped him to his feet. “I- We thought you were dead!”

“I hurt far too much to be dead,” she grimaced, shooting her left hand a dark glare. Serpentstone magic wreathed her palm in magic the same shade of the Breach, the tendrils flaring out in a bright swirl. 

“You’re the survivor? You can close the rifts?”

“Apparently,” she muttered.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she bit her lip and stared up at the Breach. “I can’t remember anything.”

“Come,” Cassandra tugged her arm. “We must keep going. The main rift is just ahead.”

“I know,” Liviana nodded. “Wait. Cullen. Have you seen Max? I’ve looked everywhere for him, but…”

“He’s down there, at that camp, healing. He’s fine, Cat.” Was it his imagination, or did she flinch when he said her name? And why wouldn’t she look at him?

“We must go!”

“I told you she was pushy,” Varric whispered loudly up at his friend. Cullen hadn’t even realized the dwarf was behind her. And Solas, that apostate elf, as well. 

“Alright. Hey, Rutherford. If you see Max, tell him… Tell him I said to not be an idiot, will you?” Her eyes met his for the briefest second, the dark gray reflecting the emerald up above. “Let’s go before the Seeker explodes.”

She did not expect to survive this. And why would she? She was marked with something, something that tied her to the tear in the heavens, an unknown magic that the reports said sparked every time the Breach grew larger. She had already lived through the impossible. What were the odds she would walk free of this unscathed as well?

No. She could not have endured everything she had so far to die here, now. He had to have faith that she would survive. She would close the rift, and return triumphant, and he could apologize to her for being such a terrible friend.

“Knight-Ca- Commander,” Max jogged up to him, his frantic eyes squinting at the backs of the Seeker and the others as they disappeared down into the ruins of the temple. “I heard a rumor that the survivor was a Tevinter woman. Did you- Was she-”

“It’s your sister,” Cullen grinned and clapped Max on his shoulder, unexpectedly holding him upright as the mage sagged against him. “She’s alive.”

“Merciful Andraste,” Max whispered. “She’s- Where is she going?”

“The mark on her hand lets her seal the rifts. They’re going to try it on the first rift, the one that’s tied to the Breach,” Cullen pointed down into the temple.

“I don’t like it,” Max sighed. “So now we just wait?”

“Now we just wait. And stay alive,” he added as the nearby rift shimmered yet again in preparation for more demons. 

“I’ll be on standby,” Max called over his shoulder as he headed back to camp.

It wasn’t even an hour later that Max heard another, smaller explosion, a loud pop of sorts that was immediately followed by-

Nothing. Silence. Above, the Breach slowed its rotation, the churning tear in the Veil coming to a stop, frozen in motion. It wasn’t closed, but it was stabilized for now. From all across the valley, he heard the sound of cheers echoing from the men and women who still lived. Sprinting to the top of the ridge, Max waited with bated breath as the other soldiers began to emerge, one by one, waiting for his sister.

“Cat!” he cried out as he spotted her body, cradled gently within Cullen’s arms. “No!”

“She’s alive,” Cullen told him as Max raced over. “She’s alive, just unconscious.”

Ignoring the way his vision was blacking out around the edges, a sign that his mana was dangerously low, Max sent a pulse of magic into her body. “She’s got two broken ribs,” he muttered. “And some internal bleeding. I need-”

“Here,” Varric snatched a small blue vial from his belt and shoved it at Max. “You look like you’re going to drop.”

“Not yet,” Max retorted. “Just need to… Fuck,” he stumbled. Strong arms caught him around his waist, the sharp edge of a breastplate cutting into his shoulder.

“It is not wise to push yourself so far,” the woman who was holding him frowned down at him, her strong Nevarran accent chiding.

“Give him a break, Seeker,” Varric replied. “It’s his sister.”

“Oh. You are the brother, the mage,” the Seeker pushed him upright, more gentle than her brusque manner implied.

“The mage. That’s me,” Max replied dryly. “She’s stable enough for now.”

“We’ll take her back to Haven,” Cullen nodded. “She can rest up there.”

“Come on, mate,” Rylen appeared next to Max’s side and cheerily slung the mage’s arm over his shoulders, keeping him propped up. “It’s a long walk back to town. Can’t have our best healer breaking his nose in the snow now, can we?”

“I’m the only healer,” Max grumbled. “So, what happens next?”

“No clue,” Rylen shrugged. “Fix the hole in the sky would be my guess. But that’s for them to figure out, with Liviana’s help. I just hit things.”

_Cat. What have we gotten ourselves into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of POVs but I feel like telling it from the Herald's POV has been done too many times. Hope y'all liked it this way!


	42. The Herald of Andraste

Slipping out into the frigid air, Max carefully shut the door behind him, not wanting any of the heat within to escape. Heavy footsteps approached up the path, accompanied by the familiar clang and clatter of heavy armor. “Commander, Seeker,” he nodded at the two.

“Enchanter,” Cassandra replied. “How is she?”

“Sleeping. Everything’s well on its way to healing nicely. And Solas came by earlier to monitor her mark, said that it’s stop spreading, which is good.”

“I can’t believe she fought as fierce as she did given the extent of her injuries,” Cassandra shook her head, more than a touch of reverence in her voice.

“She is an exceptional warrior,” Cullen smiled.

“That she is. So tell me, Seeker, how furious was she when she woke up with magic attached to her hand?”

Frowning at the memory, Cassandra sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “She… was not pleased. To say the least. Your sister is not fond of magic.”

It wasn’t a question, but Max answered it anyways. “Not particularly. She tolerates my magic, but I’m pretty much the only one. Everyone else makes her wary, until she trusts them enough to not summon a demon.”

“I read the Tale of the Champion,” she said quietly. “She has been through much. Do you know if Lady Trevelyan-”

“Liviana,” Max interrupted her. “She prefers to be called Liviana.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “Do you know if she will amenable to joining us? As she is the only one capable of closing the rifts, she is necessary.”

“I don’t know,” Max hedged. “She doesn’t like the Chantry.”

“She is not Andrastian?”

“She isn’t sure,” Cullen responded as the other man thought about the question. “She wants to believe, but it is difficult for her. But I believe she will help.” She wasn’t heartless. That was what Liviana told him the night he asked her why she saved him. She wouldn’t walk away from this, not with what was at stake.

“She probably will,” her brother agreed.

“To be honest, I am not sure how much longer we will have the Chantry’s support,” Cullen glanced at Cassandra with a hint of resignation in his voice. “The critics have been… loud.”

“But you’re the Divine’s Right Hand. And Sister Nightingale is her Left Hand. Aren’t you two basically the whole Chantry?” Max pointed out.

“We only serve the Divine,” Cassandra sighed. “Or served, I suppose. With Justinia dead, many people want to pin the blame somewhere. They want to use Liviana as a scapegoat, despite the fact that she is our only hope.”

“You don’t think she did all this, do you?” Max’s head snapped sharply over to the woman.

“Not anymore. I thought, at first- Well. I know she sided with Hawke and the mages, and that she was there the night the Grand Cleric was killed in Kirkwall. I was not sure if she perhaps had kept ties back to Tevinter either. Varric’s book was not always clear about her past.”

“Please don’t mention that you thought she was in collusion with magisters to her if you value your life,” Max stated flatly. “She will not take that kindly.”

“I- of course,” Cassandra nodded. “It is not pertinent now anyhow. I saw for myself how she helped willingly. And it seems that Varric and our Commander both vouch for her personally.”

“I do,” Cullen responded firmly. “I know her. Despite everything that she has endured, she is still a good person.”

“That is good to know,” she inclined her head. “And you, Enchanter, will you stay with us? As you know, you are the only healer we have right now.”

“I…” Running a hand through his short black waves, Max bit his lip and glanced back at the cabin. “I want to. But I won’t leave her. If she decides to leave, I’ll leave with her. If she stays, so do I.”

“That is understandable. I suppose all there is now is to wait until she wakes up,” Cassandra nodded. 

Cullen hesitated for just a moment by the cabin as the others walked away in opposite directions, the Seeker heading down to the practice yard where Rylen was, overseeing the training for the moment, and Maxwell heading back to the cabin on the other side of Haven where a makeshift clinic had been set up for him and Adan. Laying his hand on the doorknob, he sighed as he shook his head, and retreated. 

It seemed impossible that Liviana was here, that she had survived the explosion and now held the key to closing all the rifts. Reports came in daily from all over Ferelden and Orlais of demons terrorizing the general populace, and he was sure it was only a matter of time before they received word of the same in the Free Marches, maybe even Nevarra and beyond. Who created the Breach? And for what purpose? There were so many questions left unanswered, and Cullen was not sure where they were going to find the answers.

_One thing at a time. Convince Cat to stay here, to help. Close the rifts and the Breach. And then, we’ll get to the bottom of this and bring whoever is responsible to justice._

***

Groggily stretching her tight and sore muscles, her legs rubbing against the coarse blanket, Liviana yawned as she slowly dragged her eyes open and blinked a thick layer of crust from her lids. She was… in bed. Had it all just been some crazy dream? No, this wasn’t her room. Gingerly, she pushed herself up to sit and studied her surroundings. A simple cotton shift covered her body, her armor and weapons stacked neatly upon a table in one corner of the crude cabin she found herself in. Pictures and random books and bottles lined the shelves, indicative of someone else having lived here before she took occupancy. Whose house was she in? And-

A sharp burst of what felt like searing electricity ran up her arm, leaving the skin and nerves tingling in its wake. No… Inching her hand out from under the blanket, Liviana sucked in a breath as a flash of emerald green light crackled around her palm. It was real. All of it. The rifts, the demons, fucking magic embedded in her body. She needed air.

Flinging the covers back, she shot to her feet, the bare skin cold against the rough floor. In one swift motion, she yanked the shift over her head, ignoring the sound of threads ripping with the force, and flung it into the corner before pulling the change of clothes someone had left for her on, followed by her armor. She had just finished tying her boots when the door swung open.

“Oh! You’re awake! Ah. Can you please not skewer me?”

Breathing in relief, Liviana lowered the sword she had snatched up in defense, glaring up at her brother. “Where am I?”

“Haven,” Max replied, kicking the door shut behind him. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I…” The chair’s legs squeaked as she dropped herself down on it, her hands rising up to cover her face. “I’m not sure. There was fighting, and… the Breach!” She jolted upright, her eyes flying wide open. “Did I close it?”

“You stopped it from growing,” he assured her. “It’s still there though, but you bought everyone time.”

“Oh, that’s good, I guess,” she glared down at her hand. “Does anyone know what the fuck this is?”

“Not really. That mage, Solas, has some ideas,” Max shrugged. “We’ll find him later. They wanted to see you as soon as you woke up, first.”

“Who’s they?” Stepping out into the cold, Liviana shivered and doubled back to grab her cloak, before realizing it wasn’t here. _Where-_

“The Left and Right Hand of the Divine, a Sister Nightingale and Seeker Cassandra. Looking for something?”

“My cloak,” she muttered, rummaging through the room. “Have you seen it?”

“No. But I did find this.” Liviana frowned as he passed her the pin, her fingers smoothing over the melted edges. “I thought you were dead,” he replied softly. “I found this, in the rubble, and I thought you… I thought I failed you again.”

“Max, no,” she grabbed his arm and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Even if I had died, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“It is, though,” he mumbled into her hair. “I asked you to come here. I was the one who got sick, and the reason why you went to the temple. I should have been the one in there, and you safe in the valley. And now you have this,” a hand grazed over her knuckles. “And it’s my fault. I’m supposed to protect you, Cat, I’m your big brother. But I didn’t.”

“It’s not your fault,” she shook her head. “It’s not. And who’s to say that you wouldn’t have died in the explosion? And then where would I be?”

Pulling back, Max smiled wearily down at her. “Maybe. Come on, Kitty Cat,” he gently pushed her back outside. “Let’s get you up to the Chantry, then we’ll get you something to eat. Varric and your boyfriend have both been eagerly waiting for you to wake up. Why weren’t you wearing your cloak, anyways?”

“My boyfriend? I remember… I took it off. It was hot with all the people that were crowded in there, and I took the cloak off and was carrying it in my arms. I must have dropped it at some point. Who is my boyfriend, again?”

“Ser Cullen,” he grinned. “He seems convinced that you’ll stay and help.”

“I kind of have to, don’t I?” She replied dryly. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“There are always options. By the way… Ser Donovan is dead.”

“Damn. I liked him.”

“He was one of the few good ones left.”

Hugging her arms around her torso in a futile attempt to block out the wind, Liviana warily made her way past the crowds that had gathered to watch her, their hushed whispers following them up the path.

“That’s her!”

“They say Andraste was behind her in the rift.”

“She closed the rifts!”

“That’s the Herald!”

“Why are they all looking at me like that?” Liviana slunk into the dim light of the Chantry, coughing slightly as the heady smoke of incense wafted around her and soaked into her lungs.

“You’re the only survivor of an explosion that killed hundreds. And you have the power to close the Breach. How else would they be looking at you? Now where… I hear shouting back there.” Steering her towards the back of the nave, Max paused just outside of a small, heavy door set in the thick stone walls. “Think Chancellor Roderick is at it again. You’ll like him.”

“Yay.” Liviana heaved a sigh and steeled her spine. “Let’s get this over with.” She shoved the door open.

A middle-aged man whirled around at the sound of hinges creaking, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Liviana. “You! Chain her,” he motioned to a pair of guards just outside the small room. 

“Disregard that,” the Seeker snapped back.

Striding up to the heavy table that took up most of the space, Liviana stopped at one edge and crossed her arms. “I’d like to see you try to chain me.”

“So would I,” a slim redhead standing near the back smiled slyly. “We’ve met before, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Liviana, please. I remember you, from Kirkwall,” she glanced over at the woman. “Leliana, was it?”

“And I am Josephine Montilyet,” a cultured Antivan accent spoke up from the other side of the room. Warm dark eyes regarded her kindly. “A pleasure.”

Keeping her body as still as a statue, Liviana watched impassively as the Seeker all but accused the Chancellor of murdering the Divine, and summarily threw him out. _The Inquisition… There’s that word again. Maybe Max knows what it is?_ A glance over at her brother revealed that he was as confused and lost as she. _Varric, then. He would know._

“Will you join us?”

Rubbing her marked hand against her thigh, Liviana frowned down at the massive tome that Cassandra had placed upon the table, emblazoned with the same symbol she had seen on Rylen’s armor a few days before. “I…”

“You are free to go, of course,” Leliana interjected smoothly when she noticed her reticence. “But the Chantry wishes to put you on trial for the Divine’s murder. If you stay with us, we can protect you.”

“But you _are_ the Chantry,” Liviana’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“We now act independently of the Chantry. They wish to dither about, while demons stalk the land and people die,” Cassandra scoffed. “It will take them ages to act. This must be done, now, before it is too late and we can do it. But we need your help.”

Raising her chin, Liviana stared over at her brother. “You want to stay.”

“I think we should,” he replied firmly. “And so do you.”

“Fuck,” she muttered. “Well. I said I was bored, didn’t I? I’ll help. However you need me to.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra’s face softened into a warm smile. Beside Liviana, Maxwell stiffened. _Curious_. “One thing you should know. The people, they are calling you the Herald of Andraste.”

“They saw a woman behind you in the rift,” Josephine added gently. “They think that was Andraste.”

“What? No, that’s- That’s insane.” Bracing her hands against the table, Liviana stared in horror up at the women. “I’m not- I can’t be-”

“There are other rumors circulating as well,” Leliana said when it became obvious that Liviana was at a complete loss for words. “Others heard your accent, and placed it with Tevinter, so there are those who believe you are secretly a magister, bent on the destruction of southern Thedas.”

“That’s-” Liviana spluttered. “Utterly ridiculous! Max, stop laughing! This isn’t funny!”

“Sorry,” Max coughed, bringing one hand up to his mouth in an attempt to hide his grin. “It kind of is, though. You, of all people, a magister.”

Scowling at her brother, Liviana glared down at her hands, her fingers fidgeting with one another. “I can’t be sent by Andraste. I’m the last person She’d ever choose to represent Her.”

“That does not change what people believe,” Josephine replied, not unkindly. “In fact, we can use this to our benefit. It-”

The door swung open, ushering in a bracing gust of frigid wind. “Sorry I’m late,” a familiar face hurried inside. “There was an incident in town. Another brawl.”

Green eyes flicked to the door as Leliana breathed a soft sigh. “Maker… Roderick’s doing, no doubt. I would introduce you, Commander, but I am told you two are already acquainted.”

“Ser Rutherford,” Liviana nodded formally. She kept her gaze trained upon his pauldrons, too much of a coward to look him in the eye. For all she saw when she did was his blood upon her hands, that look of horror upon his face, his stomach impaled upon her sword.

“Yes,” Cullen’s movements were stiff and jerky, almost pained, Liviana noticed from the corner of her eye. “Cat- Liviana. I am glad you are awake and well.” She winced at the slight note of hurt she detected in his tone.

“So what’s next?” Max’s voice cut through the tension.

“There is a member of the Chantry who wishes to meet you, Herald,” Leliana spoke up. “A Sister Giselle. She is tending to the refugees in the Hinterlands, where the fighting between the rebel mages and templars is the worst. There is also a Master Dennet there, a horsemaster that we hoped would lend us his mounts and skills.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Liviana winced. “I’m not… My name is Liviana, or if you must, just Trevelyan. Not Herald, not Evelyn, not lady. I’m no one special.”

“I believe most of us would like to differ,” she heard Cullen smirk. “There is also the matter of closing the Breach itself.”

“More power poured into your mark could provide you with the ability to close it for good,” Leliana said. “The rebel mages are sequestered in Redcliffe at the moment, but the gates are locked.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Liviana frowned. “Adding more magic to unknown magic?”

“I agree,” Cullen replied, relief lacing his voice. “We could also approach the templars. Our sources say the Lord Seeker is still in Val Royeaux. And-”

“And we are not able to contact them,” Josephine reminded him. “The Inquisition is a fledgling organization, with barely any noble support and no Chantry backing. The Lord Seeker, nor the Grand Enchanter, will listen to us right now.”

“So what do we do?”

“Go to the Hinterlands. Close the rifts there and kill the demons, meet with Sister Giselle, help the refugees and word will spread on its own,” Leliana answered.

“I will accompany you,” Cassandra inclined her chin towards Liviana. “The Hinterlands are a mess at the moment, it will not be safe to travel alone.”

“I’m coming too,” Max cut in with a stubborn lilt.

“No,” the Seeker shook her head. “You will stay here. It is far too dangerous to bring our only healer out into a warzone.”

“But that’s why I need to go with her. Isn’t keeping your precious Herald alive the most important thing? She’s the only one with the ability to close the rifts,” Max demanded.

Cullen glanced up from a large map he was unrolling onto the heavy table. “He’s got a point.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Cassandra snapped. “Solas is a decent healer, and he has the added ability to study the mark. I will ask him to come. You are more needed here.”

“But-”

“You said you would join the Inquisition,” she glared sternly up at him, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “And that brings along with it the expectation that you will listen to and obey orders, and that your talents will be used as we deem fit.”

Grinding his teeth, Max nodded sharply. “Fine,” he bit out. “But if you let anything happen to her...”

“I will protect her with my life,” Cassandra swore solemnly.

“You had better,” he grumbled.

“I’ll be fine, Maximus,” Liviana nudged his arm. “Don’t fret.”

“Liviana, might I have a word with you before you go?”

“Oh, um,” her gaze flickered between the Commander’s shoulders and the door, darting into the corners of her room as if she were a spooked rabbit caught in a trap. “Maybe later? There’s a lot to do before I go. I need to sharpen my swords, and fix a buckle on my armor, and find new laces for my boots and talk to Varric and maybe tonight after I get everything done I’ll come find you?” Inching closer and closer to the door as she rambled on, Liviana turned and bolted from the room before the last word had even fallen from her lips.

“Is she mad at me?” Cullen asked Max, who just shrugged.

“If she is, she hasn’t told me,” he replied. “So if I’m to be the main healer here, there’s some supplies I’ll need to get. Adan and I have a list.”

“Give it to me,” Cullen replied. “And I’ll see what I can do.” _That was odd. But she said later tonight. I’ll ask her then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hai Cullen!


	43. Cornered

Liviana breathed a sigh of relief as Haven faded from view. It had taken some conniving on her part, with Varric’s sneaky distraction techniques assisting a couple of times, but she had managed to evade Cullen the rest of the day, and left the next morning without having been cornered by the man. Every time she looked at him with his curls slicked back from his high brow, and that new, damnably attractive scar of his pulling his smirk even more crooked, her mind shifted from the way he had held her in the Fade, his lips hot yet gentle upon hers, to the way he had pleaded with her not to kill him. And she still had.

_It wasn’t real. It was the Fade._

Did that make it any better? She still had chosen to fight him, chosen to kill him upon her master’s command. Real or not, the choices she made were hers alone. How could she ever face him again?

 _I can’t avoid him forever, especially since I agreed to stay. Ugh. I should have just left._ But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn’t an option. People were dying from the demons, and she was the only one with the power to close them. She could help, do something good and worthwhile for once, so she stayed. But this magic…

“Solas.” The elf glanced over at her, one hand on his staff, using it as a walking stick as they picked their way down the steep, rocky path. “Do you think the mark can be transferred to someone else? Like a mage? Wouldn’t that give it more power?”

“I do not think so,” he shook his head. “The mark seems to draw power from another source, not your latent mana.”

“My latent mana?” She stared at him. “I’m not a mage.”

“No, you are not. But everyone, save the dwarves, is born with some mana stores within them. Mages are just the only one who can access it.”

“That’s disturbing,” she muttered. “And what would happen if we cut my hand off? Would the mark still work then?”

“Firefly…” Varric looked troubled.

“I’m not going to do it,” she sighed, exasperated. “I just want to keep my options open. Just in case.”

“I am not sure. My guess would be that if its connection to you is cut off, the mark would be useless,” Solas looked at her with something akin to sympathy. “Does it bother you that much?”

“I don’t like magic,” she grumbled. “Even less so when it’s attached to me, and I don’t know where it came from. Also, it buzzes and it’s distracting.”

“You do not like magic,” Cassandra restated, “But you supported the mage rebellion in Kirkwall.”

“Support is a strong word,” Liviana frowned. “And it wasn’t a rebellion, not from where I was standing. I helped prevent a massacre of innocents by a corrupt Order. What happened next throughout Thedas, the actual mage rebellion, had nothing to do with us.”

“And yet the destruction in Kirkwall and your support, along with Hawke’s, were the catalyst for it all,” the Seeker sighed. 

“What was I supposed to do?” she retorted. “Stand back and let the rest of the mages take the fall for Anders’ guilt? Do nothing as the templars used their charges for their own pleasure and satisfaction, then discarded them when it became inconvenient? I have lived as a slave for most of my life, Seeker. I do not wish that fate on anyone else, nor I would not see southern Thedas become like the Imperium. There has to be a balance between locking the mages up for their entire lives, and letting the mages rule everything. There has to be a better way.”

“That is a refreshing point of view,” Solas commented mildly. “One you do not hear very often.”

“The system is broken. It makes sense to fix it. But apparently the urge to just scream and blame and kill mindlessly is more powerful. And no, dwarf, I don’t kill mindlessly,” she tossed back. “I can feel you looking at me.”

“I wasn’t going to say a thing,” Varric protested. “You’re very discerning with your opponents. The picture of self control. And I don’t think I’ve even ever heard you scream.”

“I’ve shouted a few times.”

“Mostly at Hawke, if I recall.”

“Well, he deserved it.”

Liviana decided she didn’t mind the trip to the Hinterlands in the slightest. The weather was warmer than it was in the mountains, and the tents that had been provided for them kept out the wind better than any tent she had ever used before. Her legs began to ache the second day, not used to walking as much as she had once been, and the muscles burned from climbing over rolling hills and craggy mountains. It reminded her of the years she had spent as a mercenary, wandering the Marches, guarding wagons as they journeyed from the Rialto Bay to Lake Celestine and back again. 

_Soft. Spoiled. Pampered. ...I wonder if Father would send my horse to Haven._

They reached the Crossroads, an intersection of the King’s Highway in the heart of the Hinterlands about a day’s walk from Redcliffe. It was in chaos. Every bend in the road brought more fighting, the ground alternating between being scorched and frosted over, bodies lying where they fell. And not all of them were mage or templar. Often, too often, Liviana saw the corpses of simple farmers and merchant in their plain homespun clothes, of entire families slaughtered like druffalo and left to rot. It was madness. How could they still be so intent upon killing each other when the sky had split open and demons rained from the heavens?

It was a good feeling, to clear the rebels out of the various villages they passed through, working with her hands to hunt for the refugees, searching the woods for blankets and clothes that had been left abandoned by their former owners, coordinating with the militia and the Inquistion’s troops to make sure everyone had shelter and enough to eat, closing rifts as they traveled. She was doing honest work that was making an obvious difference to the people who lived here, improvements she could witness firsthand almost immediately. What she didn’t like was the way they looked at her after. 

The touching disturbed her. How one of them would steal to her side and reverently touch her sleeve, falling upon the ground at her feet to ask for her blessing. She was just Liviana. Just a runaway slave who had some skill with a blade, who happened to fall out of a rift with foreign magic on her hand. All the adoration made her uncomfortable. But the title was worse. Herald, it followed her everywhere, the Herald of Andraste, sent to save them all. That wasn’t who she was, not why she was here. She just wanted to help. That was it.

On the eleventh day, a raven from Haven arrived, bearing a dark purple wax seal stamped with a feather upon it. Thanking the scout that passed it to her, Liviana broke it open with one finger.

“News?” Varric peeked over her shoulder.

“From Sister Nightingale. She says there’s a Grey Warden around here,” she scanned the letter quickly, trying to remember the code she had painstakingly memorized over the last week from Lace Harding, one of the head forward scouts. “Nearby Lake Luthias. Isn’t that near here?”

“It was near the templar camp we cleared out day before last,” he tapped one finger against his stubbled jaw. “Above the waterfall, I think.”

“She wants me to see if he knows anything about the Wardens’ disappearance. Goes by the name of Blackwall.” Stuffing the letter into a pocket, Liviana grabbed a plate and helped herself to the roast from over the fire and settled herself on the grass. That was one perk about being Herald that she did enjoy, never having to cook herself although she still took a turn in hunting and cleaning whatever she killed for the meal. She always managed to burn something over the campfire when she cooked.

“We’re almost finished up here,” Varric took the empty spot next to her. “Then it’s back to Haven. You going to talk to Curly when we get back?”

“Maybe,” she mumbled around a bite of food.

“That means no.”

“It’s not that easy,” she glared up at him. “And you know why.”

“I know. It’s just he looked so much like a kicked puppy when you kept dodging him. You could tell him why. I’d bet he’d understand. Curly’s seen some shit, too.”

“Maybe. Anyways,” she quickly changed the conversation as Solas gracefully arranged his long limbs on the other side of her, picking at his plate, “Tomorrow we’ll go find the Warden. And then I’d like to go back up to that little canyon where all those ram were. There were those refugees in that cave, remember? Corporal Vale had some blankets left over, and I wanted to take them up there. Maybe kill a ram for them.”

Solas glanced up as she spoke, his face bemused. “You are not what I expected.”

“How so?” Liviana stuffed another bite into her mouth.

“You are a noble, yet raised as a slave. Most would be bitter after such an experience, but you are not. In fact, you go out of your way to help others. You do not wish the power and admiration that is heaped upon you. Most humans I have encountered would gladly accept such things. It is a curious thing,” he replied serenely.

Chewing her food, her gaze unfocused upon the fire, she thought for a few moments. “I’ve seen and caused enough suffering in my lifetime,” she said finally. “And these people have enough troubles of their own. Why would I add to that? I know what it’s like to be cold and hungry and afraid, and I know that a bit of kindness can mean the difference between life or death. I can help, so I do.”

“It is a good thing that you do,” the elf nodded in return. “I am glad to be a part of this.”

Inclining her chin, Liviana paused as a movement in her periphery caught her eye. “Varric. Are you writing down our conversation?”

“No,” he replied, scribbling furiously in his notebook.

“Dwarf, you are not turning this into a book as well.”

“Why not?” Varric grinned, still not looking up at her. “It’s got all the makings of a great story. Just needs a romance. People love romance.”

“ _No._ ”

*** 

“Varric, a moment,” Cullen called out as he spotted the dwarf heading towards the tavern. 

“What can I do you for, Curly,” Varric beamed up. 

“Is Liviana avoiding me?”

Instantly, Varric’s jovial expression shuttered into guarded neutrality. “What? What makes you think that? She’s probably just busy,” Varric hedged, his eyes darting back towards the Singing Maiden. “Lot on her mind, you know.”

Cullen took a step closer. “Dwarf… I know you know.”

“Nuh uh,” Varric backed up, his hands held up and out. “Not touching that one with a ten foot pole.”

“Just tell me where she is.” Cullen begged. “Please, I need to know why. I need to talk to her.”

“Maker’s balls,” he grumbled, and sighed. “Well, I already have one woman who could crush my head with her bare hands that wants to maim me, what’s another? Firefly’s out there, up on that rock at the other side of the lake near the docks. And you owe me one, Curly.”

“Thank you,” Cullen nodded. His boots crunching in the thick snow, he found the faint path that led around the lake, past an empty cabin, and through the woods. Even though he tried to make as little noise as possible, he knew that her keen senses would have already detected him by the time he made it to the dock. “Cat?”

“Varric told you where I was, didn’t he?” Came a disembodied voice from high atop a boulder. “Bastard.”

“Would it help to know that I guilted him into telling me?”

“Varric can’t be guilted into doing a damn thing,” she snorted. Peeking over the edge, her braid slipped over her shoulder and dangled in the air. “What is it?”

“I’m sure you know,” he replied gently. “May I?”

“...Suit yourself.”

Bracing one hand upon the rock, Cullen hauled himself up the slippery slope, cursing under his breath as he scrambled in the most ungainly fashion to the top of the boulder. Heavy plate was not ideal for climbing. Carefully, gingerly, he slid over to where she sat, curled up against the base of the a small tree that was growing from the crevices. She flinched as he came closer.

“What- are you scared of me?” He froze in mid-motion. “Have I done something to offend?”

“No,” her head jerked up. “Of course not. Besides the fact you didn’t write to me, ever. It’s very rude, you know.”

“I know. I meant to apologize. Things were… hectic,” he sighed. “But that’s not the reason you’re acting as if I might strike you at any moment.”

“I know you wouldn’t hit me,” she mumbled into her knees, her legs bent and tucked against her head. A shiver wracked her shoulders. Frowning to himself, Cullen unclasped the thick fur mantle from around his neck and gently settled it over her frame. “Thanks,” she pulled the warmth closer to her. “Place is fucking freezing.”

“I know. So, what is it?”

Blowing out a deep breath, her eyes rose to meet his, for just a second, long enough him to see the fear and pain in their stormy, moonlit depths, and flicked away. “There was… an incident. After I left Kirkwall, when I went on that journey, Vol-” Maker, she could still barely say his name- “Volesus captured me. My master’s brother. He tortured me for weeks, and then somehow I ended up in a Fade dream. You were there. I- I _killed_ you. I had no choice, I was a slave again, and you- and you-” A choked sob caught in her throat. 

“Hey,” Cullen reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, hesitating for only a half of a heartbeat when she suddenly burst into tears. Liviana was crying. Normally, he would have been at a loss of what to do. She was the strongest person he had ever met, indestructible, immutable. To see her break like this… It hurt more than he ever could have imagined. Yet he didn’t falter. Grabbing her arm, he hauled her into his lap, and wrapped his arms around her. 

It wouldn’t do to tell her it wasn’t real. He knew that better than anyone. The demons who had held him captive and tortured him for days still showed up in his sleep every night, regardless of reality. The pain was real. The terror, the devastation- all real. So, instead, all he said was, “I forgive you.” And he stayed with her.

Minutes passed, maybe hours. The night grew colder, but she barely noticed. His fur mantle kept her warm enough, the bare skin of his neck pressed against her face in a manner that was so very intimate, yet comforting at the same time. It was not as awkward as she had thought it would be, being held like this and rocked as if she were a child and not a woman grown. He was still Cullen, still her friend, still alive. And he cared.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled into him. “I’m getting you all wet.”

“It will dry,” he soothed. “Do you want to talk about it?” She shook her head.

“Not tonight. Maybe one day, but… not tonight. You should hate me. Or be yelling at me. Or something.”

“For killing a version of me?” He huffed a soft breath. “I’m right here, and perfectly unharmed, so pardon me if I don’t feel particularly spiteful at the moment. The Fade is tricky. It distorts your emotions and reality and blends them seamlessly with your worst nightmares in a way that you don’t expect. I don’t blame you for the choices you made in the dream.”

“I suppose you’re the expert on the Fade, aren’t you, ser templar?” Sighing, she pulled away from him, one hand raising to wipe her face dry. “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you.”

“As long as it wasn’t because I made you mad,” he smiled. Giving him a wan smile, Liviana fought the rising blush on her face. That scar on his lip, pulling his smirk lopsided, made her remember the dream before the nightmare. How he had held her, kissed her, made her feel warm and safe and loved. It was too much right now. 

Pushing herself off of his lap, Liviana took a step away and perched on the edge of the boulder, her legs swinging freely below. “Tell me, Cullen. Do you think I was sent by Andraste?”

“Yes.” The answer came immediately.

“But you know me,” she argued. “How can you think that?”

“Because I know you,” he settled down next to her, far enough away so that he was not touching her, but close enough so that she was aware of every inch of him. “I know your strength and determination and kindness. She sent us someone who could bear this mark, and fight for others who need a champion. What was that you told me back in Kirkwall? That you defended those who were defenseless? And here you are, doing the same thing,” a smile played at the edges of his lips, the serpentstone light of the Breach reflected in his darkened eyes. “Who else could She have sent that would have borne what you have with such grace?”

“Grace,” she snorted. “A turtle has more grace than me. Anyone would have been a better Herald, and you know it.”

“Anyone else would have turned into a raving lunatic by now, or ended up impaled on a templar’s sword or fried by lightning,” he retorted with a chuckle. “No, I believe it’s you for a reason.”

“That is not helpful, not in the slightest bit,” Liviana sighed. “I don’t want to be a holy figure. I don’t want all of this,” she waved vaguely with her marked hand.

“I know. And perhaps that is why you have it.”

She paused for a second. “You know, I really hate it when you make sense.”

Laughing, he jumped down from the rock and held his hand up to her. “It’s a rare thing, so don’t get used to it. Come on, let’s head back before you catch your death of the cold.”

“You just said I was strong,” she teased, taking his hand and sending up a quick prayer of gratitude that they were both wearing gloves and that she couldn’t feel his bare skin. “How could the mighty Herald be felled by winter?”

“With your delicate, thin Marcher blood? Easily," he scoffed. "Where’s your cloak, anyways?”

“I lost it in the explosion,” she glanced sheepishly up at him. “I mean to tell you, but…”

“But you’ve been avoiding me,” Cullen snorted. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll just steal this mantle. It’s pretty warm, for that it looks like a furry nug that was drowned and then run over by a herd of druffalo. And then eaten by a wyvern. And regurgitated.”

“Handling requisitions is part of my duties,” he reminded her. “And if you’re going to malign my clothing, you’ll have to give it back. Besides, furry nugs don’t even exist.”

“I don’t need to requisition it, I have coin. And no, you’re never getting this back. I need to burn its corpse so it doesn’t ever rise from the dead. Again. ”

“Too bad, I’m getting you a cloak anyways. And give it back.”

“I’m just going to buy one tomorrow. And nuh uh. It’s mine, now.”

“Well then, you’ll have two cloaks. One of which is not my mantle.”

“Stupid, stubborn _Ferelden_ -”

Cullen just laughed at the frustration written clearly across her face. “You forgot barbaric.”

“I was getting to that.” Still, it was impossible to stay mad, even in jest, at the man for very long. She shook her head with a wry smile, and began the walk back to Haven, Cullen at her side and his mantle around her shoulders. “You’re impossible.”

“Yes.”

“At least you don’t disagree with that.”

“You are never getting this fur back now, Ser Stick. Since you won’t do your duty as a templar, I’m taking it to Rylen so he can smite this sad abomination. Or maybe I’ll just stab it. That should work, right?”

“Cat-” Cullen made to lunge for her. With a shriek, Liviana fled back into the woods and down the path, her heels kicking up small flurries of snow. “Give it back! I swear, if you put a hole in it-”

“You’ll have to catch me first, Ser Stick!” His growl followed her, along with the sound of his armor clanging as he sprinted after her. Yes, Cullen was still Cullen, still her friend. Everything would be okay, as long as she had him by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some happy fluffs. ^_^


	44. New Allies and Decisions

Liviana liked Blackwall. The Grey Warden was gruff, yet not caustic, polite, yet not demeaning, not at all like most men she had encountered during her life, and highly skilled in battle. The only thing was-

“Warden Blackwall, if you call me my lady one more time, I will not be held accountable for my actions,” she scowled over at the man.

“I, um,” he stuttered. “Of course, my- Oh, balls.”

Varric laughed. “Go on and say it, Beardy. You’ll be lucky if all she does is punch you.”

“Beardy?”

“Hmm, you’re right. Too obvious,” Varric mused. “I’ll keep working on it.”

Giggling as she took another sip of her wine, Liviana glanced around the tavern. It was fairly packed at this time of the evening, everyone who was off duty cramming into the small building. With her back to the wall and her head facing the door, she found she didn’t mind the crowd for once. It made the place actually warm.

“I’m so tired,” Max shuffled over to their table and dropped himself down into an empty chair Varric shoved at him. “We really need another healer in this town besides me.”

“I can look for one,” Liviana offered. “We’re headed to Val Royeaux in a few days; I’m sure I can find someone along the way who’d be willing to join us.”

“Thanks Kitty Cat,” he sighed. “Not that I mind the work, I like being useful. It’s better than sitting in a classroom all day just working on theories. But I wouldn’t complain if I had help.”

“You’d complain no matter what,” she snorted. “It’s in your nature.”

“Only to you, because you love the sound of my voice.”

“Like I love crotch-rot.”

“That’s… disgusting,” Max turned to the two other men. “Does anyone really believe she’s the Herald of Andraste, the _Holy_ Bride of the Maker? Have they _met_ her?”

Blackwall pounded a fist on his chest to keep himself from guffawing his amusement across the table, while Varric had no such compulsion. Throwing his head back, the dwarf cackled. “She’s only like this around you, you know. And Curly.”

“I feel so lucky,” he grumbled.

“Say Zephyr, I need to know. Where did the nickname Kitty Cat come from?”

“Tell me how you got Zephyr and I’ll tell you,” Max replied as he took the mug of ale from the serving girl.

“Zephyr… Wind,” Varric shrugged. “Your force magic looks like you’re summoning a wind to throw your opponents around. I considered calling you Drafty for a bit. Be glad I found a better name.”

“Should’ve called him Dafty,” Liviana snickered to herself.

Max shot a glare his sister’s way. “Her middle name is Catalina, did you know that? It’s because I wanted a pet kitten rather than a baby sister,” he smiled wryly. “And I insisted Mother was pregnant with a cat, not a human, so I called her kitty cat. Mother thought it was adorable, and decided to give her the middle name of Catalina, just so my nickname would make sense. I still think an actual cat would have been better, though.”

“I still think the frog I caught in the garden when I was five was a better brother, so I suppose we’re even,” Liviana stuck her tongue out at him.

“Herald!” A messenger sprinted into the tavern, stumbling towards their table as he laid eyes on her. “There you are! Urgent news, the advisors are requesting your presence in the war room, my lady.”

“I’m on my way,” she drained her wine in one last swallow and rose.

“How come she doesn’t yell at them for calling her by her titles?” Blackwall asked, to no one in particular.

“That’s how you know she likes you,” Varric answered. “She only lets people she doesn’t care about or doesn’t like call her my lady.”

“I… feel honored, then.”

“You shouldn't, really,” Max drawled. “It’s not that big of a d- Hey! That hurt!” Rubbing his head where his sister had slapped him, he glowered as she pointedly ignored him and hurried out of the building.

“You two have come a long way since Kirkwall,” Varric observed with a smile. “It’s nice to see.”

“We got to know each other a lot better when she was in Ostwick,” Max turned his attention back to his ale. “She’s pretty great. Although, if either of you tell her I said that, I’ll throw you both in the lake and set you both on fire.”

“Mum’s the word,” Blackwall nodded. “I’d be daft to even think about getting involved in this sibling rivalry.”

Jogging through the village, Liviana noticed a man standing near the entrance of the Chantry, his face scrunched up with frustration as yet another person brushed him off. She stopped to speak with him, trying not to flinch at the sound of his familiar accent- _Tevinter_ \- and warily agreed to bring his offer to the rest of the advisors after he swore up and down at the point of her sword that he had no ties to the Magisterium. _Still... Mercenaries._

Heading back further into the Chantry, she pushed the door to the war room open only to find that the rest of the advisors were already present, Josephine pacing back and forth, Leliana and Cassandra both standing silent and still at the end of the room, and Cullen glaring down at the map so hard that she was surprised it did not burst into flame. “What’s wrong?”

“We just got word that some of our soldiers have been captured,” Cullen bit out in a clipped tone. “By the Avvar. Their leader refuses to negotiate for their release, and only wishes one thing. To fight you.”

“Sounds fun,” she shrugged, not at all shocked or perturbed as the rest seemed to be. “I can leave today.”

“It is not fun,” Cullen spluttered at her nonchalance. “The Avvar may be barbarians, but they are strong warriors. This is a horrible idea.”

“Would you like me to leave our men to their fate then?” She asked him sweetly. Smiling as he scowled back down at the table, Liviana reached out to pat him on his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Someone has to,” he retorted. “Given your penchant of attracting trouble.” A giggle distracted him. “Why are you two laughing?”

Covering her mouth with her clipboard, Josephine cleared her throat and blinked wide, innocent eyes up at him. “I am not laughing.”

“I am,” Leliana smirked unabashedly. “You two are adorable.”

“We have more important matters to discuss than their relationship,” Cassandra interjected, not without a smile of her own, however.

“We aren’t- I’m not- Ugh,” Liviana sighed. “Oh. I met a person out there. He invited us to the Storm Coast, apparently he’s a mercenary and his boss wants us to go watch them work, possibly hire them. Are we that short on troops that we would need mercs?”

“It’s not that we’re short on men, it’s that most of our recruits are as green as grass,” Cullen replied. “We need more trained veterans to help teach. We should go and see them.”

“I don’t know if I’ll have time,” she frowned down at the map, noting where Cullen had placed his marked over the Fallow Mire, far to the south, one finger tracing a path from the bog to the northern coast. “Maybe Rylen could go. After all, if you’re wanting them to help train, he’d be the best option to evaluate them, wouldn’t he?”

“He doesn’t have the authority to approve such a decision,” Cullen said.

“Then send Cassandra with him.”

“That is not a bad idea,” the Seeker agreed. “Warden Blackwall, Varric, and Solas can accompany the Herald to the Fallow Mire. Can you spare Captain Rylen for the week?”

“I should manage,” Cullen nodded. 

“And then we can meet up when we’re all done at Gherlen’s Pass, and travel to Val Royeaux together from there,” Liviana added.

“That is... a good idea.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she snapped up at the Commander, who just sheepishly reached up to rub his neck. “I’ll go tell the others we’re leaving.”

“My apologies,” he called out as she rushed back through the door. “Maker’s breath, but that woman is a handful.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” Leliana replied slyly. “In fact, you seem to quite enjoy having your hands full of her, Commander.”

“It’s not- That isn’t- Ugh,” he sighed, unconsciously mimicking Liviana from earlier. “I have work to do.”

“Of course, Commander,” Josephine nodded, smiling once again as he stomped away. “They really are both oblivious, aren’t they?” 

“Yes,” Cassandra mused. “But it is not the time for such things, anyhow. They probably are both aware of that.”

“On the contrary, I don’t think either of them are aware of anything,” Leliana laughed. “But Cassandra is right, this is not the time.”

Heading towards the exit, the Seeker paused with one hand on the doorframe and cast a wistful smile over her shoulder. “But it would be terribly romantic, wouldn’t it?”

***

Once, Liviana had loved the rain. It would pour in thick, heavy sheets from the sky during late summer, drenching the ludus in a torrential downpour, cooling off the sweltering sand that would leave blisters on her skin if she fell and took too long in rising again. Rain had once been a blessing. She changed her mind after the Fallow Mire.

Mud. Everywhere. In her boots, in her armor, in the buckles, the grooves in her pauldrons, her hair, Maferath’s balls, it was even in her smalls. And it wasn’t mud like that of Vyrantium, all soft and smooth and warm. No, this mud clung to whatever surface it managed to latch on it, and froze, chilling her skin so that no matter what, she could not stay warm. The only good thing that came out of this trip was the fact that the soldiers had all been rescued, and were now on their way back to Haven. She, however, had a different destination.

The city of Val Royeaux. Liviana had visited the city before, as part of the many caravans she had joined for coin, but she had always kept to the lower sectors to which the poor, foreign filth were relegated. Sleazy inns, sketchy taverns, places where you had to keep a dagger at the ready and your purse close to your heart at all times. Now, traveling with the Inquisition, she was able to see the finer High Quarter.

She hated it. Oh it was pretty, that much was certain. Gilded balustrades and carved granite and marble decorated every surface, providing a fitting backdrop for the nobles and wealthy merchants dressed in their fine velvets and silks and elegant masks. Her mother would have been entirely at home here, and that was half the problem she had with the place.

So she was only too happy to only spend a day and a night within the city walls, leaving at first light the morning after she had visited a certain First Enchanter of Montsimmard at her salon, and agreed to let a Red Jenny join their ranks. Liviana had heard of the Red Jennies before on her travels. They were an odd conglomeration of people from every walk of life who used their talents to help more unfortunate souls. The ‘little people’, as the girl, Sera, put it, which was accurate enough.

“So what’s your story, Glowy Fingers?”

Snorting at the new nickname, Liviana shrugged. “I fell out of a rift, and when I did, I had this mark. That’s all.”

“Nah,” Sera shook her head, her shaggy blonde mop of hair swishing with the force. “I mean before that. Before your hand started sparking.”

“Oh. I was a slave, once. In Tevinter. I escaped. Obviously,” Liviana replied flatly.

“Yeah? So you know what it’s like? For the rest of us, I mean. The ones who get left behind by their lot,” Sera jerked a finger in Madame Vivienne’s direction.

The politics confused her here. Vivienne was a mage, and by the standards of southern Thedas, should have been confined to a Circle for the rest of her days. But Orlesian politics allowed her to become the mistress to a certain Duke Bastien de Ghislain, amassing influence and power of her own. Curious.

“I do.”

“I heard you were noble born yourself,” Vivienne’s smooth voice called out. “Of Ostwick, was it not?”

“You heard correctly, Madame,” Liviana said patiently. “My father in Bann Trevelyan. But as I was not raised by him and his, I do not use my family’s name often.”

“You should, my dear. You are entitled to it after all, and with your status now, many more might heed the Inquisition’s call for aid if they knew one of their own was Andraste’s chosen.”

“Friggin’ balls,” she muttered under her breath, much to Sera’s delight. “I am not Andraste’s Herald. I do not claim to be, despite what people say. And my flashing around my ancestry and breeding pedigree will have no effect. People will join us, or they won’t, by virtue of our actions.”

“I would not be too sure about that, Herald,” Vivienne smiled that same condescending smile she had seen so many times on her mother. Liviana seethed. “A name can take you far in this world.”

“Not in my world,” she nodded stiffly. Flicking the reigns on her horse, Liviana sped up her mount, trotting closer to the front of the group where Cassandra rode alone. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I have been thinking. About the Lord Seeker,” she frowned. “I do not know what has gotten into him. Condoning violence on a Sister like that? Removing the templars entirely from the city? It makes no sense.”

“The entire world’s gone mad,” Liviana idly stroked her horse’s neck, running her fingers through the coarse mane. “Nothing makes sense anymore.” _If it ever did. To be honest, nothing has made sense to me since I left Tevinter._

It felt much the same as it had in Kirkwall, during those final months before Anders blew up the Chantry. Except this time, it was the entire world teetering on the edge of some vast chasm, a hair away from breaking. Demons ran loose in the world, mages killed templars, templars killed civilians, nobles holed themselves up in their fancy estates and ignored reality- _well I suppose that much remains the same, no matter what happens. The Chantry nor the nobles care what happens to the common and poor. So I guess it’s up to us to fix this mess._

“Have you given thought as to which group we should approach for aid?” Cassandra’s voice cut into her musings.

“I would prefer to ask the templars. Cullen assures me that they could suppress the magic within the Breach, and allow me to close it in a weakened states. The idea of pouring more mage into something so dangerous and volatile does not sit well with me,” Liviana admitted. “But as it stands, the Lord Seeker will not acknowledge us, and now he has retreated to Maker knows where. And the Grand Enchanter actually invited us.”

“I agree with your opinions. We could go to Redcliffe to just see what Fiona has to say,” the Seeker offered. “We do not have to make a decision then and there.”

“Maybe. Why are you leaving this up to me, though? Shouldn’t it be a decision you and the others make?”

“We are at an impasse,” Cassandra sighed. “Cullen and I both wish to utilize the templars, and Josephine and Leliana both favor the mages. Since you have the mark, and will be the focus when we do close the Breach, it makes sense for you to choose who we shall ally with.”

_The focus_ … “Solas,” Liviana glanced behind her to where the mage rode in silence. “What are the odds that I might die closing the Breach?”

“I am not sure,” he replied gently. “Trying to close it before knocked you out for three days. Doing so again, with more power, might be easier on you, or worse. There is no way to tell beforehand.”

Nodding slowly, Liviana blew out a puff of air. “Alright.”

“You do not fear death.” It was not a question, but Liviana answered it anyways.

“No,” she smiled at Cassandra. “I made my peace with my end long ago. Life is cheap.”

“Not to those who care about you,” the Seeker eyed her.

“True. But if I die, I’d rather die doing something meaningful. My life, the one I have now, was bought in blood with a life of one I treasured. If I can do the same for those I care for, I would not regret my demise,” she murmured. 

“I would be interested in hearing your story. The true account,” Cassandra amended, “Not the tall tales that Varric wrote.”

“Hey!”

Laughing at Varric’s indignant shout, Liviana nodded her assent. “When we get back to Haven. I’ll need wine for that conversation. A lot of wine.”

“As you wish." Cassandra bit her lip as a thought struck her. "Were you truly in love with the Prince of Starkhaven?”

“Oh, for- Varric! You did _not_.” Liviana whirled around in her saddle to pin the dwarf with a frosty glare. Shifting in his seat, Varric slowed his horse and dropped back behind Vivienne and Sera, disappearing behind the scouts that brought up their rear.

“Sorry, what? I can’t hear you, Firefly!”

“I am going to strangle him.” Liviana growled.

“I will hold him for you if you wish,” Cassandra smirked.

“You hear that, dwarf? You can’t hide from us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An artist's rendition of Varric at the end. XD


	45. A Mask

“Hey you! Drop your shield again and I’ll tie it to your arm! Bloody idiots, can’t even keep a shield-”

“Frustrated?”

“A wee bit,” Rylen sighed, running a hand through his black locks. “I can handle green recruits all day long, but half these lads act like they’re terrified of the snow. If I yell boo, some of them would probably keel over.”

“Ooh, let me try-”

“No. You’re the Herald. They definitely would die of fright if you did it,” he snorted. 

“That would be half the fun,” Liviana grinned. “Come on, just a little boo?”

“Are you bothering my second?”

“I’m never bothering him,” she scoffed as Cullen approached, tossing her braid over one shoulder. “Rylen absolutely adores my company.”

“Aye,” the Starkhavener agreed amicably. “You’re a delight, lass.”

“He’s just saying that because he’s terrified of you,” Cullen snorted.

“Of course he is. So are you.”

“I… that’s true enough, I suppose,” he sighed, much to Rylen’s amusement. “Have you met the Chargers yet? The mercenary captain wants to meet with you.”

Grumbling under her breath, she crossed her arms over her chest and tugged the edges of her cloak in closer. As much as she was loathe to admit it, she loved the one Cullen had bought her- soft wool lined with thick, silky fur, dyed a purple so dark it was almost black. Her favorite color. _He remembered_. “I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Reasons.”

“Is it because he’s Qunari?”

“You didn’t deal with them in Kirkwall like we did,” she mumbled. “The Arishok, the Qun within the city, the Tal-Vashoth that roamed the Wounded Coast. Not to even mention what they did to Isabela. They’re beasts. They cannot be reasoned with.”

“That is not true,” Cullen frowned down at her. “And unworthy of you. The Iron Bull is nothing like the other Qunari I have met. He and his men have been quite helpful.”

“Bet you he is the same,” she sniffed. “I’ve been fighting the Qun since I was a child and tall enough to hold a sword without tripping over it. I’ve met all the Qunari I care to meet, thank you very much.”

“Well, you’ll have to meet one more,” Cullen replied. “Because the Iron Bull is joining your field team.”

“What?” Her head flew up, her jaw hinging open. “No! I don’t need anymore people on my field team!”

“The rest of us disagree. You may have to go out on every excursion because you are the only one with the mark, but the others will get burned out. This will allow you to rotate your companions, so that they can be at their best when they guard your back. Tired soldiers make mistakes.”

“I don’t make mistakes,” she muttered.

“I’m not entirely convinced you’re human,” he chuckled, ignoring her scowl. “And he’s joining your team. Whether you like it or not.”

“I hate you. I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you,” Liviana hissed. “Rylen is my new best friend.”

“My condolences, Rylen.”

“Gah!” Throwing up her hands in the air, Liviana stomped away, viciously kicking the snow from her boots. She paused at the sight of the white slush flinging through the air, and smiled. The snow stuck to her gloves as she quickly packed a lump into a ball, and turned to let it fly.

“Catalina!” Cullen’s shout echoed across the training yard, causing more than a few recruits to drop their shield and swords in shock. Desperately swiping the snow out from the juncture of his neck and shoulder, where it had slid down from his cheek to his collar, he roared after her, “Come back here now!”

Shrieking a laugh, Liviana scampered down the path and flew back into the safety of the village. She handily dodged through the people milling about, twisting her way to the cabins on the far side where Max kept his clinic.

“Oy,” she heard Sera call out. Turning around, Liviana spotted the elf perched atop a boulder, fletching a pile of arrows in her lap. “You’re in a hurry.”

“I threw a snowball at the Commander,” Liviana grinned as she passed. “I’m running in case he retaliates. I don’t fancy snow stuffed down my shirt.”

“No!” Sera gasped, grabbing her sides as she cackled and wobbled precariously from side to side. “Commander Jackboot? You really did? I knew you were one of the good ones.”

Laughing, Liviana waved at the elf and continued on towards the cabin set closest to the wall. She gently pushed the door open. Poking her head in, she was surprised to find no patients inside at the moment, the only occupant being Maxwell who was scribbling down notes onto a piece of parchment, and Nathalie, another healer from a small town just outside of Lydes that had been decimated by the civil war that rampaged through Orlais. She had wanted a safer place to raise her children, and took the place that Liviana had offered her here in Haven.

“What can I- oh, it’s you.”

“Just me,” she nodded. “Hungry?”

“I am. Will you be alright by yourself for an hour or so, Nathalie?” Max asked her.

“I’ll be fine,” she smiled. “Take your time, my lord.”

“I’m not- Never mind,” he heaved a sigh. “She won’t stop calling me that, no matter what I say.”

“Welcome to my world,” Liviana replied dryly. “Everyone is forever Herald this, my lady that, and it’s driving me crazy. I’ve gotten used to the my lady thing, from spending so much time in Ostwick, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being called Herald.”

“Herald,” a voice called.

“See?” Liviana grumbled. “Yes? Oh, Cassandra.”

“I was coming to see if you had time to spar today,” the Seeker replied. “After speaking with Lady Fontaine, I need to work off some frustration. Are you about to eat?”

“I am. Maybe in another two bells or so?” Liviana smiled. 

“Of course. I will be down in the training yard,” Cassandra nodded at them. “Healer Trevelyan.”

“M-Max is fine,” Maxwell blurted. “Seeker.”

“I… As you wish,” she eyed him curiously.

Liviana waited until they were seated in a corner table of the tavern before she spoke, her grin as wide as it could possibly get and her fingers drumming against the solid surface. “Are you blushing still? You are!”

“I am not,” he retorted, far too quickly.

“You are,” she giggled. “Do you like her, Maximus?”

“She is a lovely woman,” Max replied stiffly.

“And powerful. Have you seen her bare arms? They’re magnificent, so toned and powerful and-”

“Stop,” he groaned, letting his head flop down onto the table with a dull thud. “Yes, I admit it, she’s gorgeous and terrifying and could kill me in almost as many different ways as you.”

“She’s nice, too. I like her,” Liviana offered. “She does not blindly follow orders, like so many others do. Nor does she seek to use the power she holds for her own gain. All she wants to do is help. You could do a lot worse than her.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. “I don’t even know where to begin though. I’ve never had a relationship before.”

“Never?”

“It wasn’t allowed in the Circle,” Max shrugged. “There were plenty of casual dalliances, but nothing lasting.”

Thanking the girl who set down two bowls of piping hot stew, Liviana fiddled with her spoon for a moment. “What do you think we would have been like? If we had both grown up how our parents intended?”

“We’d both be married off by now,” Max thoughtfully chewed. “I’d probably have a couple of kids by now, and so would you. My wife would be perfectly lovely and as intelligent as a rock, and your husband would have clammy hands and snore and we’d both pretend to be happy when in reality, we’d be dying on the inside.”

“You paint such a tempting picture,” she laughed. “I suppose you think it worked out for the better this way?”

“Life is what you make it, Kit,” he leveled a serious gaze at her. “And life is unexpected. Neither of us would have ever guessed we’d be here, you a holy figure with a magical hand and me an apostate working openly with the Hands of the Divine, yet we are. There’s no use in thinking what if. All we can do is go forward from where we are and keep trying to make our lives, and the lives of those around us, better.”

“You make it sound so simple,” she murmured.

“Sounds easy,” he agreed. “But we both know it’s not. Living is always harder than dying. But it’s worth it. Look at all the good you’ve done just in these few short weeks.”

“It is nice. To be useful.” Smiling up at him, she scooped up a spoonful of carrots and potato. “Thanks, Max. Sometimes you’re not a complete idiot.”

“I love you, too.” 

***

The delicate clink of his quill tapping against the glass ink pot sounded quietly in his tent. Scratching the back of his neck, Cullen scanned the report in front of him before he quickly signed his name at the bottom, and set it aside. A cough distracted him, and he looked up and smiled.

Liviana glanced over at him from where she lay with a stack of letters in one hand, sprawled across a chair in his tent. She had claimed the seat in her precious spare time, using him as an excuse to escape the chantry and the ever present horde of lingering nobles whenever she was able. Not that he minded in the slightest. He found her company to be a pleasant distraction from the pain of his withdrawals and the monotony of training. All he needed to do to keep her content with his presence was to ensure she stayed warm. A brazier had appeared shortly after she began haunting his tent, along with an increasing number of blankets. The image she presented now was slightly ridiculous.

“What are you smirking at?”

“You look like a talking pile of laundry.”

“And you look like a baby lion in dire need of a grooming from its mother, but I don’t tell you that,” she shot back, with no real venom in her tone. “And I see that you still haven’t touched your food. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“You are much bossier than I remember,” he muttered under his breath even as he reached for the meal she brought for him earlier.

“Yes, well, running around with Hawke for years and then dealing with my mother will do that to a person. Does your head hurt again?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You get this grumpy look in your eyebrows when something hurts and you're being too stubborn to acknowledge it," she frowned, laying down her papers. "You've been in pain a lot recently."

"It's just a headache," he sighed. "From all the stress."

"And the lack of basic sustenance. Speaking of which, I can’t hear chewing,” she called out. Despite his grumblings, if truth were to be told, if she did not bring him his meals when she was in Haven and all but force food down his throat, he would probably be substantially weaker these days. It was so hard to find the time or desire to eat, so if she had not literally threatened to inflict pain upon his person, Cullen would have eaten far more sparingly. As he shoved a few large forkfuls of the roast pheasant into his mouth, the tent flap fluttered open, letting in a frigid gust of wind that scattered a few of his papers to the ground. “Hello, Rylen. The Commander is currently eating right now, so he’ll get back to you later.”

“Maker’s breath,” he spluttered, bending over to retrieve his reports. “I can talk while I eat, Liviana.” Her gray eyes narrowed at him. 

“Talk with your mouth full? My mother would be appalled, Ser.”

Chuckling, Rylen set down a sizeable stack of papers on the desk. “Got the requisitions up to date so far, and the paperwork completed for the new recruits. Ah, Herald,” she stuck her tongue out at him, “Lady Montilyet’s looking for you.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“Herald…”

“Oh, don’t you start too,” she snapped at Cullen. “Fine, I’m going.”

“Do you need help unraveling yourself from your cocoon, Herald?” Cullen raised an eyebrow as she began peeling the layers back, Rylen chuckling at his side.

“Go fuck yourself,” was her only response.

Sticking her tongue out at the two smirking men, Liviana flounced out of the tent and headed back up the slushy path to the Chantry, breathing as sigh of relief as the stone walls blocked out the worst of the wind.

“Ah, Herald,” Josephine spotted her and beckoned her over to where she stood with a couple off to the side, in front of a small altar that burned brightly with candles. “Allow me to present Marquise Gilles Desroches and his wife, Marchioness Mirelle of Val Foret. They were on their pilgrimage to the Temple of Sacred Ashes in order to attend the Conclave, but an unfortunate travel accident delayed them. Or perhaps it was a fortunate accident?”

 _A pious couple, then. And wealthy_. Liviana understood all too well what the ambassador was saying. Dipping her head to the precise degree required, Liviana swept them both a proper curtsy, and replied in perfect, if slightly accented Orlesian, “ _Welcome, Marquess and Marchioness Desroches. How are you finding the Inquisition thus far?_ ”

Behind the pair, she saw Josephine’s shoulders sag with barely constrained relief. “ _It is a quaint village, but the Inquisition has been nothing but hospitable. I did not know you were fluent in Orlesian, Herald_ ,” Lord Desroches’ sharp eyes studied her, and continued in Common, “There has been little information about your heritage, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, pardon me,” Liviana smiled, summoning up every lesson she had ever had with her etiquette tutor to the forefront of her memory. “My name is Evelyn Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Philip Trevelyan of Ostwick.”

“Oh!” Lady Desroches clapped her gloved hands together. “I have heard of Bann Trevelyan. He is a devout Andrastian, is he not?”

“Both of my parents are, my lady. They take their duties to the Maker quite seriously,” Liviana replied.

“Then it is good to know that Her will is in good hands,” Lord Desroches inclined his head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lady.”

“And you as well, my lord.” The smile stayed plastered on her face until the Marquise and his wife disappeared from view, then instantly faded. 

“Ah, thank the Maker. I was so afraid- Well,” Josephine blushed.

“You were afraid I’d talk to them the same as how I talk to Sera or Cullen?” Liviana drawled. Chuckling, she shook her head. “I do know how to behave as a noble. My mother made sure of that. I know how to dance, how to speak Orlesian and Antivan, and that using the grapefruit spoon to eat soup is apparently an offense punishable by death,” she snorted. “According to Lady Marisol Trevelyan, at least. But I don’t like doing it. It’s an act, you do realize. And I hate pretending to be something I am not. I did that for far too long.”

“I understand,” Josephine nodded. “But you do see why it is necessary?”

“The Inquisition needs coin,” Liviana frowned. “Vivienne said my parents’ name would be useful in securing alliances. I told her that using my ancestry would not give us any advantages, but it appears I was wrong. I assume if I had told them I was a heathen runaway slave, they would not have been so cordial.”

“Madame de Fer is quite an adept player of the Game and will prove to be a formidable ally and resource for us. Are you familiar with the Game?” Josephine asked.

“I know of it. And I watched the magisters play their own games in the halls of Tevinter ever since I was a child. I understand it. And I despise it,” Liviana spat.

“I… am sorry. Truly, I am,” the Antivan lady sighed. “But it is necessary, if the Inquisition is to survive. We all must make adjustments and sacrifices.”

Liviana did not respond as the ambassador made her apologies she hurried away, a messenger waiting by her office with a stack of letters from every corner of Thedas. More nobles, pledging their support, not because of the danger the Breach posed to the world, but because of who she was. No, not even who she was. Who she had been born as. Lady Evelyn Trevelyan. They would not care about Liviana.

 _We all must make sacrifices. But haven’t I made enough?_ She raised her hand and turned it so that the torchlight caught in the emerald sparks. _When will it be enough?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Cullen/Liv banter is my favoritest thing ever.


	46. The Iron Bull

Steel clashing against steel, along with the grunts and shouts of the recruits, rang out through the valley. Resting comfortably on a bench some distance away, Liviana curled up under her cloak, an extra blanket tucked securely around her with her tools and armor spread out over her lap. She found it soothing to work here, near the orderly chaos of the training yard. It reminded her of those days she would sit with Calliope within the ludus walls and they would talk and laugh while working on their repairs. An odd thing to find comforting, those days of slavery, but it was what it was. Briefly, she wondered what her friend would have thought about all of this.

 _She’d probably just laugh at me_. She smiled at the memory of Cal’s laugh. For such a delicate, petite elf, she had the most raucous cackle that Liviana had ever heard, complete with the loudest piggy snorts. It was amazing. Calliope had rarely laughed like that, but the times she did… Liviana giggled to herself. 

“Something funny?”

“Just thinking,” she squinted up at Max. “Need something?”

“Nah. Had some time to kill, now that other new healer is here. You know I’m actually able to take a day off a week now? It’s nice. Although I’m not sure what to do on my day off,” Max sat behind her on the bench. “Not like Haven holds a myriad of leisure opportunities. How have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Shrugging, Liviana picked up the little hammer and began tapping a dent in her bracer back out. “Alright, I suppose. It poured the entire time we were up by the coast. And you should have seen these spiders. They were as big as a druffalo. I had heard about giant spiders that live in the caves down here, but to see one that close…” she shivered. “I’ll die happy if I never see one again.”

“I think I’m glad I stayed here,” Max shuddered. “Giant spiders, no thank you. Why are you fixing your own armor? Don’t we have a blacksmith here?”

“He’s busy making the armor and swords for the army,” Liviana spoke around the handle she had shoved in her mouth. “Plus, I’ve always done this for myself. It feels weird to have someone else do it.”

“So the titles haven’t gone to your head, good to know,” he grinned as she stuck her tongue out at him. “So what’s the next move, Herald?”

A deep sigh left her. “Everyone’s still arguing over what to do. That’s why I’m out here, to think. They want me to pick who we approach for allies. I was going to go to the mages, since Fiona invited us, but Josephine says it’s possible for us to march to Therinfal Redoubt, where the Lord Seeker has retreated with the templars. But Redcliffe is closer, and Fiona actually asked us to go. But the templars would be a safer bet.”

“The mages would be just as useful,” Max frowned.

“All those mages? That close to a tear in the Veil with no templars to help if things go horribly wrong? I apologize if I’m not leaping with excitement at the prospect,” she replied dryly. “Cullen agrees with me.”

“Of course he does, he’s the bloody Knight-Captain,” he muttered. “Don’t you think you should at least just go talk to the Grand Enchanter? Isn’t it on the way to Therinfal Redoubt? So you could stop there first, see what she says, and if you don’t like it then go get your pretty templars.”

“Maybe.”

“Look,” he sighed. “I have friends with the rebel mages. They’re good people, Cat. They’re just scared. I mean, they’ve lived their whole lives under lock and key and guard and all of sudden, they were left to fend for themselves. They can do this. We’re stronger than you think.This isn’t Tevinter. Mages making deals with demons and turning into abominations was actually quite rare in the Circle.”

“That’s because you had templars there. And I know this isn’t the Imperium,” she grumbled. “I just don’t like the idea of all that magic in one place. Too much potential for disaster. I can handle a few at once, but not the hundred or so that’s rumored to be in Redcliffe.”

“Even if they all turn into abominations, what’s a hundred demons to my baby sister, huh?” he nudged her arm, ignoring her groan. “I thought you’d be happy if they did. Isn’t killing abominations you and your boyfriend’s favorite pasttime?”

“I want a new brother. Mine has lost his bloody mind and is about to get stabbed in the balls.”

Laughing, Max reached out to ruffle her hair, yanking his hand back when she brandished her pliers far too close to his bits. “I’m leaving! I’m leaving!” He rose to his feet and stepped away, then paused. “Just… think about it, okay?”

“Sure,” she waved him off.

It did make sense, what Max had said. Redcliffe was on the way, and she’d rather go somewhere she was invited to, rather than use the prestige of the nobility to force her way into the templar stronghold. Not to mention that Lord Seeker was fine with one of his templars inflicting violence on a defenseless Chantry sister; what was to stop him from doing the same to a noble? Maker, if a noble was harmed on her watch, or worse, killed, it might cause irreparable damage to their reputation.

But all those mages.

She had barely tolerated the Gallows, and that was only because of the sheer numbers of templars that roamed those halls. The feeling of all that vast mana prickling along her skin set her on edge and left her unsettled. To have the same, here in Haven, with only a handful of templars- Ugh.

_They’re stronger than you think. To trust all these strangers..._

Boots crunching in the snow distracted her from her circular thoughts. Glancing up, she blanched, Liviana quickly schooled her face into neutrality. “Hello.”

“So you’re the boss,” the great, hulking Qunari eyed her. “Haven’t had the chance to meet you yet. The Iron Bull, leader of the Bull’s Chargers. You met Cremisius Aclassi, my second the other week,” he motioned to the soldier next to him.

“I did,” she replied tightly.

The Iron Bull cocked his head to one side. “You don’t like me. Or is it that you don’t like Qunari? Or ‘Vints?”

Maker, but he was huge. Of a similar height as the Arishok that Hawke had killed, but even broader in the shoulder. Larger than any Qunari she had fought before, that much was certain. And obviously insane, given the fact that he was prancing around Haven in mid-winter wearing nothing to cover his chest save a leather harness. “Take your pick,” she replied dryly.

Studying her for a moment longer, he nodded. “Mind if I sit?”

Not like I could stop him if I tried. “Sure.”

“So,” he turned towards her, “Seeing as how we’re going to be working together, I figured we should clear the air first. What is the issue you have with me?”

Pausing her hands, her fingers fiddling with the pliers, Liviana thought. “I was there. In Kirkwall, when the Arishok led his men against the city.”

“Ah,” The Iron Bull winced ever so slightly. “You know the Qun disavowed his actions.”

“I do. Doesn’t make a difference to all the civilians he slaughtered.”

“No. I suppose it doesn’t.”

“The surrounding area was also riddled with Tal-Vashoth.”

“Mindless animals,” he growled, surprising Liviana. Her own words, thrown back at her. “Those who leave the Qun become nothing more than beasts who crave violence. I am nothing like them.”

Slowly, Liviana nodded. “Sister Nightingale told me you’re a spy.”

“I am. Ben-Hassrath, actually,” his previous harshness melted into a casual, conversational tone. “I was sent to Orlais to gather intelligence on nobles. But the higher ups are worried about that,” he pointed up at the Breach swirling above their heads. “And they’re interested in you. So it’s like I told your Nightingale. I give my bosses information that keeps them reassured that everything is under control here, and whatever news I receive in return, I share with you.”

“Because if they think the south is spiraling into chaos, they might invade, to protect us from ourselves or whatever,” Liviana realized.

“Exactly. They’re also interested in you.”

“Why?” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Besides the fact that someone you’re the only person in Thedas with the ability to the close the rifts? That you have an unknown magic in your possession, but you’re not a mage?” He raised one eyebrow at her. “You also have ties to Tevinter. That makes them nervous.”

“I have no ties to the Imperium,” she all but snarled, gripping her tool in her hand so violently that her knuckles faded to bone-white. “I was taken from my family as a child, sold like cattle and forced to serve. Any ties I had to that accursed place were severed the day I escaped.”

His eye roamed over face, searching for any sign of deception. Satisfied with what he found, Bull nodded. “I believe you. So that’s why you don’t like Krem.”

“If it helps, Your Worship, I’m just a soporati,” Krem offered, trying to be helpful. “I have no fondness for the magisters either. It was one of them who drove our family out of business, forcing my father to sell himself into slavery to pay off his debts and save our family.”

“At least he had the option and did it voluntarily,” she muttered, trying not flinch away from that smooth, accented voice that stirred far too many memories that she would have preferred to stay buried. His was not the voice of the nobility, his own accent a bit more coarse, but it still evoked shadows in the back of her mind. “Look. You’ve joined the Inquisition to help, I can appreciate that. Because to be honest, we need all the help we can get. And I understand you will be watching us, and me, specifically. Just know I will be watching you as well.”

The Iron Bull frowned at her. “If we don’t trust each other on the battlefield, then-”

“Is trust really that easy for you, spy of the Qun?” Liviana cut in. “Or do you judge people by your actions?”

“I just wanna know if you’re going to slit my throat while I sleep.” he replied with the casual disregard of his life that only a mercenary would have. Death was part of the job.

“No. If I want to kill you, it would be in a fair fight. I’m not an assassin,” she stared back at him. “But really. I’m a former slave. You’re a Qunari spy, masquerading as a mercenary, with a Tevinter second. Trust is not divvied out for shits and giggles, it is earned. If you have my back in a fight, I will have yours. But the second you do anything to harm me or my people,” she stood up and gathered up her equipment. “Then you will die.”

“I can live with that,” the Iron Bull grinned. “I look forward to working with you, Liviana Trevelyan.”

Nodding sharply at the men, Liviana strode off in the direction of the stables and busied herself at the forge for the rest of the day. She knew it wasn’t fair of her to judge one person by their entire people. Hawke and Max and proved that to her in the case of the mages. Varric was nothing like the other dwarves she had encountered over the course of her life, save his penchant for lying- no, stretching the truth, perhaps. And the elves were just as varied as anyone else. People fell all over the spectrum of morality, no matter their heritage. There were kind nobles and traitorous filth, honest elves and liars, charming dwarves and scum, mages like her brother and Volesus. It made sense that not all Qunari would also be the same. And the Iron Bull was different. He had a personality for one, a cadence to his voice as compared the monotone that most others of the Qun held. And he had smiled. 

_I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Qunari smile before. Or work willingly with a ‘Vint. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on him._ Cullen had said it wasn’t worthy of her, but he was one to talk. Although he was trying as well.

“Something on your mind? You look like you’re about to grind that sword into a shiv.”

Cursing under her breath, Liviana let up on the whetstone and frowned up at Rylen. “Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” she blew a stray piece of hair from her face.

“Hmm,” he leaned back against the wall, one finger tapping against the lines that marked his jaw. “Want to beat me senseless?”

She grinned at the light, mischievous note in his voice. “What did you have in mind?”

“Recruits driving me batty. And you look like you could work some frustration out, too,” he shrugged. “Want to have a go?”

“Swords?” she asked, rising from her stool.

“Nah. Had enough of swords for one day,” Rylen glared at the yard. “How about…” A calloused hand ran over the rack of weapons, his fingers brushing against the assortment laid neatly in their places. Lingering over a mace, he shook his head and grabbed a hefty piece of wood. “You any good with a quarterstaff, lass?”

“It’s been awhile,” she chuckled softly. “The last time I sparred with a staff was-”

_The day we killed Varinius. With Cal._

“You sure you’re alright?” Rylen bent over and peered into her face with those bright, aqua eyes of his.’

“Fine,” she sighed. “Staves sound good.”

“No armor?”

Glancing from the pile of her leathers, still stacked neatly in one corner where she had left it for the meantime, and back down to the simple leggings and plain tunic, still stiff with the newness of it, she wore under her cloak and blanket, Liviana shrugged. “Nah. It’ll be more interesting this way.”

“Maker preserve me,” she heard him grumble.

“Now you sound like Cullen. Don’t worry, Captain,” she giggled. “I won’t break that pretty nose of yours any more than it already has been.”

“I don’t believe anyone has ever called my nose pretty,” he snorted. 

“Beauty is subjective,” she smirked. “‘Til one yields?”

“Aye. Sounds good to me.”

Rolling her shoulders out, Liviana threw her cloak and blanket over the fence and took her spot in the ring, hefting the staff in her hands, testing its weight. Heavy, solid, almost cumbersome. She whirled it a few times from side to side, and nodded. “Ready?”

“When you are, lass.”

“Let’s get started then, I’m fucking freezing my balls off.”

Barking a sharp laugh, Rylen grinned over at her and lunged. The movements came easily enough, considering how long it had been since she had handled a staff. Her mind may have forgotten, but her muscles remembered. Clack. Clack. Over and over she tested his guard, and he hers, the wood meeting each other in a sound that took her back. Back to a sun-drenched, sandy yard, sandals tied to her feet, dust and grit and light blinding her eyes. For a split second, she could of sworn she saw a flash of lavender.

“Ow,” she hissed as his staff bounced off the side of her hip. That would leave a bruise.

“You’re distracted,” Rylen called out.

“I know,” Liviana grumbled, blocking his swipe.

“If you just want to stand there and moon at the snow, let me know and I’ll go find someone capable to fight me,” he taunted. “Maybe Max, or that Solas fellow would be a better challenge for me.”

Her stormy eyes cut right through him. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work on me.”

“Then _fight_.”

Grabbing the other end of her staff, Liviana pressed his thrust back, both of them vying for control of the field. She glared up at him and breathed. In. Out. The void in her mind swallowed her thoughts whole, and her entire world narrowed to this ring. Rylen. His staff. The whistle of the air as he swung the weapon around in a tight arc. The force of his breaths. The squelch of his boot in the muddied snow. 

She blinked. And grinned, wild and feral.

Her body whirled around, both of their staves a sudden blur. Brandishing her own as if it were an extension of her body, step by step, blow by blow, she felt her training return to her, using the weight of her weapon as a counterpoint for her jabs. Her smaller size and greater speed were an excellent match for his superior strength and endurance, and she was delighted to find that they were more than evenly matched here. But still, it was clear who had the advantage.

Rylen hissed as her staff collided with his unprotected torso, his own hands held off to the side to ward off an attack he had anticipated that never came. “Sneaky little-” His eyes searched for an opening.

There.

Ducking down low under her arms, Rylen rammed her stomach with his shoulder, spinning away as she grunted from the impact. Only to feel her her ankle as it hooked around his own, her staff firmly planted into the ground to give her leverage-

And she twisted, her staff rising up to smack him straight across the back of knee.

Down he fell, the mud splattering up and away from his body as he collided into the slush.

“Balls,” he wheezed. “Maybe teasing you wasn’t such a good idea.”

“I warned you,” she giggled. Leaning over, she clasped her hand around his and hauled it up.

“Yeah, Firefly!”

“Oh for-” Liviana sighed as whistles and shouts and applause rose up from the crowd that had gathered at some point, recruits and nobles and merchants and tradesmen and women all standing shoulder to shoulder to watch the spar. Suddenly uncomfortable with all the attention, she simply nodded at the dwarf, and slunk off to grab her cloak. Draping it over herself, she pulled up her hood and blocked the sight of the spectators out. “I don’t like being watched,” she said by way of explanation to Rylen.

“Understandable,” he nodded. “I need a bath now.”

“I could have Max throw you in the lake,” she offered sweetly.

“I think I’ll pass,” he laughed and threw her his staff. “By the way, winner gets to put the weapons up. I think I’m too damaged to do it now.”

Rolling her eyes, she smacked him lightly across his back with both staves. “Men are such babies.”

“Well, you did spar without armor,” Cullen walked up to them, leveling a disapproving frown at both. “Either one of you could have been seriously injured without protection, and then what?”

“Isn’t that why we have Max?” Liviana blinked innocently up at him.

“For illness and accidents,” he scowled. 

“Well, if I was injured in training, it would be an accident,” she pointed out impishly. “After all, I never set out to get hurt.”

“You know what I mean,” dropping his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“Face it, Commander, your life is so much more interesting with me around,” she giggled. 

“That is one word for it. Come on,” he took the staves from her and passed them to a nearby recruit. “War meeting is in five minutes. We need to make a decision on which faction to approach today.”

“And there goes my mood,” she sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had stuff to say, but I forgot. So hi! *waves*


	47. Shadows From the Past

Cullen had not been pleased with her decision to head to Redcliffe first. Liviana, for her part, wasn’t thrilled with the prospect either. _An entire village full of mages, and only one Seeker to help nullify magic_. She shuddered. But Leliana and Max both had a valid point; the Inquisition had been invited to Redcliffe. The Lord Seeker was still barricaded away in his fortress, and Josephine was in the process of gathering the necessary nobles to force his hand.

Remembering Cullen’s admonition to rotate her inner guard, as it were, only Cassandra, Sera, and Max accompanied her, the rest of her companions left behind in Haven to their own devices. Max for his part was positively giddy to be out of the village, and filled their days with incessant chatter until-

“Heral- Liviana,” Cassandra pulled her horse up next to Liviana’s. “Would you be overly offended if we gagged your brother for the duration of the trip?”

“Maker, no,” she shook her head. “I’ve got rope in my bags, and a spare dirty sock.”

“I feel so abused,” Max sighed from behind them.

“I assure you, our ears are suffering more,” Liviana shot back.

“You’re going to make me cry, you know.”

“Pay him no attention,” Liviana turned back to Cassandra. “He’s just overly excited. Like a puppy. It can be rather endearing if you imagine him as a fuzzy baby animal instead of a grown man.”

“Ew,” Sera wrinkled up her nose. “Does he piss on the rug too?”

“Only when he’s had too much to drink.”

“ _Cat_.”

Laughing, Liviana blew him a kiss and kicked her horse into a canter. As much as she dreaded what was to come, it was too lovely of a day to be that irritated with her brother. The sun was so much warmer in the lowlands than it was in Haven, and the efforts of Inquisition were paying off. The corpses that had littered the sides of the roads her first visit had been given their last rites, and burned as was proper. No one wanted a repeat of the Fallow Mire.

Everywhere they rode, she could see farmers returning to their land, doing what they could to salvage their war-torn fields and prepare for the spring that was almost upon them. Commerce had been restored for the most part as well, now that the roads had been cleared of bandits and were regularly patrolled by the Inquisition, and carts and wagons rumbled down the dirt paths, laden with goods. The birds were singing, children were laughing as they scampered alongside the horses, all shouting and straining to catch a glimpse of the fabled Herald, ducks were happily waddling through the mud and quacking- _perhaps this is a good omen._ It had to be. 

Reigning her mount in, Liviana paused as a little girl ran towards her, flapping her arms wildly and screeching, “Herald! Herald!”

“Your Worship,” her mother panted as she chased the child, “Forgive her. She’s just-”

“It’s fine,” Liviana smiled and dismounted. “And what is your name?”

“Ellie,” the little girl giggled. “I got something for you.” One chubby hand thrust towards her, clutching a bunch of wilted dandelions and violets mixed with a few tufts of grass still bearing dirt at the roots, the first wildflowers of the year.

“They’re lovely,” Liviana took the little bouquet. “Thank you very much.”

“Thank you, Your Worship,” the mother pulled her daughter back sheepishly. “For everything.”

“Of course. Do you have everything you need, mistress?” Liviana asked.

“Oh, yes, my lady! The Inquisition has helped us immensely with supplies,” the woman beamed. “We’re ever so grateful to you and them.”

“If you need anything, please let us know,” Liviana bowed slightly at the waist and swung her leg back up on her saddle, but not before reaching out to ruffle the little girl’s blonde curls. “Thank you for the flowers, Ellie.”

“She said my name!” Ellie dissolved into giggles against her mother.

“That she did, love,” her mother smiled. “Maker watch over you, Your Worship.”

“And you,” Liviana nodded. Steering her horse back to the road, she frowned at the rest of her companions. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Every last one of them were grinning like fools at her. “I’ve never seen you behave in such a manner,” Cassandra replied.

“Like what?” Liviana scrunched her face up in confusion.

“Like a proper Herald,” Sera giggled. “Or a big hat. But a good one. If there is such a thing.”

“Like a- I was just being nice to a child,” Liviana sighed. “It’s a thing I do, being nice to children.”

“And here I thought you ate children for breakfast,” Max snorted. “Like a troll.”

“How about I feed you to a troll?”

“There’s the sister I know and adore.”

“Maker, I hate you,” she scowled. Brushing the excess dirt off the roots, Liviana tucked the flowers into a side pocket of her saddlebags. “The gates to Redcliffe are just up ahead. Wait-” Her hand flared in a spark of green. “There’s a rift. Everyone be on your guard.”

***

She would have given anything for a templar’s abilities right now. Standing with her back ramrod straight against the tavern wall, Liviana gripped both her sword hilts tightly, one in each hand. “Tevinter,” she hissed. “You indentured the mages to _Tevinter_?! Have you lost your mind?”

“It was the only thing I could do to protect them,” the Grand Enchanter snapped. “It was the only way I could guarantee their survival against the templars. Either way, I no longer have the authority to bargain on the behalf of the mages. You will have to speak to Magister Alexius.”

“I’m going to kill this magister, and then her,” Liviana snarled as Fiona walked away. “Of all the idiotic, imbecilic-”

“They’re desperate,” Max muttered. “And desperation makes fools of the best of us.”

“It does not excuse this,” Liviana spat back at him.

“I agree,” Cassandra nodded curtly.

“Shoulda brought more arrows,” was Sera’s contribution.

Sharp ice pierced her heart, the numbness flooding her veins as she watched the magister enter the tavern, his jagged robes swaying as he moved. _He looks so much like Varinius_. Too stricken to do anything save blink, Liviana stood still as a statue.

“My apologies for making you wait, Herald,” he smiled charmingly. “My name is Gereon Alexius, and I am the one in charge of the mages here. Please, sit.”

Her instincts kicked in. Obediently, she sat, her back straight and her gaze lowered. _No! I’m not a slave anymore. I can look him in the eye._ And yet, she found that her body would not obey her mind in this. She could not look up.

“Herald,” she heard Cassandra say. “Are you well?”

_The magister, he asked me something._ “I- I-” This will not do. Squeezing her eyes closed, Liviana sucked in a shaky breath. And another. Focusing on the neckline of his robes, she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, “We’ve come to gather assistance in closing the Breach.”

A hand gripped her shoulder. _Max_ , she breathed. Reaching her own hand up, she laid her fingers over his, taking strength from her brother. _He’s here. They’re not going to take me again. I’m not back there. They will never have me again._

Alexius ignored this strange behavior, and leaned back in his chair. “Of course, Herald. I must say, I did not expect you to be one of my countrymen. Your accent, Vyrantium, is it not?”

Her head whipped up and she found that she suddenly had no qualms about meeting his eyes. Narrowing her gaze, she snapped with barely constrained fury, “I am not one of your people. My name is L- Evelyn Trevelyan.”

“My mistake then,” Alexius nodded smoothly. “Apologies, Herald.”

She wanted to kick his face in.

“So,” he continued, oblivious to her rage, “You want my mages. What will you give me in return?”

“Is the threat the Breach poses not enough?” she bit out.

“Of course, of course. But you see, I-” The magister glanced up as another mage dressed in Tevinter robes walked into the tavern. “Ah, Felix. Herald, may I introduce my son, Felix Alexius?”

_There’s more of them_. She glared at the newcomer.

“Pleasure,” Felix offered her a wan smile. “I wanted to- ah!” Stumbling in his approach, beset by a sudden weakness, Felix lurched forward and only Liviana’s quick instincts kept him from colliding with the floor. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Scowling, Liviana made to shove him off. _Why did I save-_ And paused, as she felt a scrap of paper brush her palm. Closing her fingers around it, she nodded. “No worries.” Her face stilled into neutrality, betraying nothing, as the magister made his apologies and rushed off with his ailing son. She had seen that look on people before, observed the way shadowed veins bled to the surface of the skin, turning the victim into nothing more than a husk. Blight sickness. At some point, the young man had come into contact with darkspawn. _He's a walking dead man._

The tavern resumed the low buzz of conversation as soon as the Tevinters left. Liviana moved into an empty corner of the room and unrolled the paper. “Come to the Chantry, you are in danger,” she read.

“That’s definitely a trap,” Sera peered over her shoulder. “We still gonna go, yeah?”

“Of course. I’ve an itch to stab things, anyways,” Liviana grumbled. 

“Cat- are you okay?” Max gently touched her shoulder.

“Do I look like I’m okay?” she snapped. “Sorry,” her shoulders sagged. “I’m not- it’s-”

“You don’t have to explain,” he murmured, moving in closer to her. “I’m here, if you need anything. I’ll protect you.”

Normally, she would have teased him for that. Made a jest about his fraternal instincts, or his skills compared to hers. Instead, all she did was smile and say, “I know.” Trying her best to ignore the itch of mana tickling at the edge of her senses as she stalked her way through the village, she followed the narrow path up the hill to where the Chantry stood. Her mark flared. “There’s a rift nearby. Inside, I think.”

Cassandra unsheathed her sword. “Let us close it, then.” 

Cracking the door open, the Seeker was the first to glance inside. “A little help here!” A man yelled as he spotted her, whirling his staff through the air.

_Another Tevinter mage_ , Liviana snarled. Sprinting past Cassandra, she hurtled headlong into the fray, both of her swords bared, cutting through the demons like a scythe through summer daisies. All of the frustration, the anger, the pain- she poured it all into every blow, every slice until every demon lay in pieces at her feet, the stone floor coated in their rancid ichor. By the door, her companions stood utterly still, not daring to move. Liviana raised her mark, and with a pop, the rift sealed.

The mage cleared his throat. “Well, ah. That was impress-”

Whirling around, Liviana swung her sword up, pausing just before she sliced into the vulnerable skin of his throat. “You have ten seconds to tell me why I should not kill you.”

“Because I’m trying to help,” he grimaced down at her blade, wincing as a single drop of blood trickled down his neck. “I swear it on my life.”

“Your life means nothing to me, Tevinter mage,” Liviana growled.

“But it means a great deal to me. I’m rather fond of it, you see.”

“Dorian!”

“Ah, Felix,” he blinked, too afraid to nod as the magister’s son slipped in through the side door. “Impeccable timing.”

“What he says is true,” Felix urged. “He’s trying to help. We both are. My father has gone mad, he’s joined a cult of supremacists. The Venatori is what they call themselves. He’s changed. I don’t want what he wants. Please, we want to help.”

Flicking her glare from the magister’s son back to the other mage, Liviana narrowed her eyes at the one who called himself Dorian. _He looks familiar_. “...What city are you from?”

“Most recently, Minrathous. But I was born and raised in Qarinus,” he replied.

_The door clicked open softly, and Liviana turned towards the portal, her hands gripping the edges of her robes. She always hated this part, the unknown. Would he be rough with her? She had not completely healed from the last man who handled her so violently. Would she be able to feign enjoyment with this one, or would she suffer his wrath, and the dominus’ later?_

_“Er… Who are you?” A voice asked._

_“Liviana, my lord.” Dipping into a curtsy, she let go of the sheer fabric that covered her bare form and let it flutter to the floor. “Your father purchased me for your name day celebrations.”_

_“Oh sweet Maker!” the young man yelped. Diving for her robe, he snatched the flimsy material up and shoved it back at her. “Here, please, ah- Just- Just cover up.”_

_“...Have I offended, my lord?” Liviana stared down at the bunched up fabric in her hand in confusion, feeling a pit churning in her stomach. If she had upset him to the point where he refused her entirely… The punishment would be harsh indeed._

_“No, no, no,” he shook his head. “Look, you’re a lovely, um, person, but I’m just not- Not interested,” he sighed, the candlelight shining off his obsidian hair, a shade darker and bluer than her own._

_“I understand, my lord,” she replied quietly. “I will go.”_

_“No!” his head jerked back up. “You can’t, my father, he would be cross with me if I sent you away. Again.”_

_So she wasn’t the first, then. “As you wish, my lord. I will just stay here off to the side, if it pleases you.”_

_Nodding, the young man moved about his lavish chamber, stepping behind his lacquered privacy screen to change into his lounging robes, and grabbed a book before reclining on his cushions near a low table. He glanced up at her after a moment, one finger stroking the thin moustache growing in across his upper lip as he watched her silently kneel in a corner of his room. “What sort of books do you like to read?”_

_Liviana frowned down at the tiled floor. “I do not know how to read, my lord.”_

_“We’ll look at pictures, then.”_

_Her chin tilted up, her brow furrowed in confusion. “...My lord?”_

_“Unless you’d rather just sit there all night and admire the grout, that is,” he smiled. “Come. Sit.”_

_Obediently, Liviana padded on bare feet over to the cushions next to him and gingerly lowered herself down upon one. What did he want her to do?_

_“Now,” he flipped open a book with brightly colored paintings of a forest depicting a woman kneeling next to a stream. “Have you ever read the tale of the haunting of Teraevyn? It’s a child’s story, but it does have some kernels of truth to it.”_

_“No, my lord.”_

_“Let’s see then. It was back in the Storm Age…”_

She knew him. Oh merciful Andraste, it was _him_. The rest of the faces from her time as a slave were just forgotten blurs, but she would never forget him as long as she lived. The one whose father had bought her for the night. He had refused her company, and instead spent the evening reading to her, showing her maps of the locations that appeared in the stories. Maps that she later used to escape to freedom. It was because of him that she was even here, and not dead, or worse, recaptured. Her sword trembled in her hand.

Lowering her blade, she nodded at steadily as she could muster, trying valiantly to hide the shaking within. “A life for a life. I will not harm you. For now.”

“A life for…?” He blinked, baffled, down at her. “Er. Thank you.”

“You said something about a cult,” Cassandra stepped forward as Liviana retreated to stare at the wall.

“Yes,” Dorian rubbed the spot where she had nicked him, the wound already scabbing over. “Alexius was once my mentor. We were working on magic that could change time itself.”

“That’s impossible,” Max shook his head.

“Is that is why Fiona did not remember inviting us here?” Liviana glanced back. “And that rift by the gates. It was… odd. Like time had slowed down in some spots but sped up in others.”

“Precisely,” Dorian nodded. “It is wildly unstable, and extremely dangerous. It will unravel the world.”

“And you helped with it,” Liviana stalked back towards him. “This is what the mages of Tevinter do. Meddle with forces beyond their ken and destroy the very fabric of the world just for what? More power?”

“It was purely theoretical when I worked with Alexius,” the mage sighed. “I don’t know how he actually made it work. I suspect this cult may have something to do with it. I just don’t understand why he’s doing it.”

“To get to you,” Felix’s gaze fell upon Liviana. 

“...Me?” Her voice came out in a croak. Visions of a dark, damp prison cell, of a table with leather restraints stained with rusted blood, of electricity and fire arcing across a writhing body all swam before her eyes. Maker, the screams…

“Cat…” Laying a hand on her shoulder, Max asked the question she did not want to. “Is he in league with a man named Volesus?”

“Volesus?” Felix and Dorian looked at each other. “It doesn’t sound familiar. My guess,” Dorian continued, “Is that their fascination with you involves that mark upon your hand. But as to why, I could not say.”

“Why should we trust you? A man willing to betray his own father, and his mentor?” Cassandra challenged.

“What he’s doing is madness,” Felix shook his head. “I don’t want to see the world ripped apart by his magic any more than you do.”

“Odd sentiment from the son of a magister,” Liviana found her voice. “In my experience, magisters are willing to do anything to obtain more power. Including ripping apart the world.”

“Well, I don’t approve,” Dorian snapped back. “I rather prefer my world in one piece. There’s already a hole in the sky. A second hole in time is a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“What should we do?” Max glanced around at the others. “We have to stop him. And we can’t leave the rebel mages in his care.”

“Whatever you do, I cannot stay here,” Dorian added. “Alexius doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Haven,” Liviana muttered, running an agitated hand through her hair. “We need to go back and talk to the others.”

“Yes,” Cassandra nodded. “We do. Dorian Pavus, will you come with us?”

Liviana shot the Seeker a death glare as the mage nodded. “I’d be delighted to,” he replied.

Cursing under her breath in every language she could think of, Liviana stomped out of the Chantry, Sera at her side to add to her colorful descriptions of how her day was going. Max sighed; he didn’t blame his sister for being as angry and frightened as she was. Hell, he was terrified for her. The last time she had been in the company of magister had ended in disaster. He would died before he let that happen again. Whatever happened, he would keep his little sister safe this time.

“She does not like me much, does she?” Dorian remarked as they made their way through the village.

“Imagine that,” Cassandra replied dryly. “Did you expect the people here to welcome a Tevinter magister with open arms?”

“I am not a magister,” Dorian patiently sighed. “Merely an altus.”

“Like that matters to the rest of us,” Max shook his head.

“I suppose not. But it doesn’t explain why you lot seem to at least tolerate me, and your Herald appears unsure as to whether she wants to strangle me with her bare hands, or carve me into itty bitty pieces.”

Cassandra glanced at Max, who shrugged. “Ah, void,” the man sighed. “You’d find out eventually anyways. Cat was a slave, in the Imperium. She escaped several years ago.”

“I… see,” Dorian nodded slowly. “That explains much. And her name is Cat?”

“No,” Max swiped his hand down in a cutting motion, his voice razor sharp. “Her name is Liviana. Or Evelyn Trevelyan, but she prefers to go by Liviana.”

“Livi-” Paling, Dorian swiveled his head and examined Max more closely. “You wouldn’t happen to know who she once served, did you? Was is this Volesus you mentioned?”

“No, that was his brother. Her master was… another V something,” Max unrolled his blanket and spread it over his legs. “She was a gladiator.”

Wordlessly, Dorian turned his attention back to the road. _Kaffas. I remember… Still, what did she mean by a life for a life?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liviana almost shish kabobed Dorian, poor thing.


	48. A Scarlet Future

“We can still go get the templars.” Cullen was eerily still, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword, his eyes downcast and focused on the map and a bronze marker that sat upon the word ‘Redcliffe’.

“No, _dammit_ ,” Liviana slammed her fist down on the table, more than a few markers tumbling over from the force. “I have to go back to Redcliffe I can’t leave Alexius there and him continue whatever mad plans he has.”

“The nobles will be here tomorrow,” Josephine gently interjected as Leliana replaced the markers on their appropriate locations. “If we send them away for nothing…”

“Fenhedis,” she muttered. “And we would need the prestige of the Herald’s title to approach the Lord Seeker. So I would have to go.” Gripping the edge of her braid, Liviana gave it a few sharp tugs, pacing the length of the room from one wall to the other while the others silently watched and wracked their own brains for a solution. “What if we- No, that wouldn’t work. Kaffas! This is-” A long, violent exhale shuddered from her body as she ground to a halt, both of her hands slamming against the table. Her shoulders sagged. “Maker, I hate this,” she murmured quietly. “But… Would the Herald’s brother carry the same weight as the Herald herself?”

“Not the same, but it could work,” Josephine mused.

“You want a mage to walk into a Templar stronghold?” Cullen stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Cassandra. You can go with him,” Liviana’s eyes flicked up. “A Seeker will make the entourage that much more legitimate. And a Templar, we can send the Knight-Captain of Starkhaven.”

“Rylen,” Cullen nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a good idea.”

“And Vivienne,” Liviana continued. “Having a First Enchanter Loyalist along couldn’t hurt either. And Warden Blackwall, his Order is well respected. And Sera, an archer is always a good idea. And Solas.” 

“Who do you intent to take then if you are sending all of Haven with Max?” Leliana queried.

“Varric,” Liviana replied.

“Just the two of you?”

“He and I have some experience with defeating Tevinter cults,” she shrugged. “We’ll be fine.” 

“Fine like the last time?” Cullen’s voice lanced across her chest. She glared at him with barely constrained venom. Although, he had a point.

“I’ll take the Iron Bull, too. You’ve been on me to include him. And Qunari like fighting magisters.” 

“If I might suggest Solas going with you instead,” Leliana interjected. “He is an apostate after all, and would not be looked upon favorably by the templars.”

“Fine,” she nodded curtly. 

“But the question is what will you do once you get in? It’s too dangerous for you to just waltz in. And attacking the castle itself is a suicide mission,” Cullen frowned. “Redcliffe Castle had stood for centuries and its defenses have never been breached.”

“There has to be a back way,” Liviana muttered. “All fortresses have secret passages so the nobles can escape. This place must have one too.”

“Under the windmill,” Leliana said suddenly. “There was a passage that led from the village to the castle. We took it back during the Blight. The windmill was destroyed but the entrance should still be there.”

“Cullen?” Liviana glanced over at him. "I need your help to plan this. Please."

“Maker,” he sighed. He knew when he was defeated. “If this is what you wish, then here is what I propose. For the record though, I do not like this.”

"Neither do I," she replied quietly. "Neither do I."

***

It wasn’t as cold out today, or perhaps the Ferelden winter had numbed her entirely. Drifting about idly through the village, barely able to nod at the passersby who called out to her, Liviana wandered until she found herself at the clinic door. She drew a breath in, and pushed it open.

“Max? Do you have a minute?”

Max glanced up from the tome he was reading. “Sure.” Stuffing a spare quill into the book to mark his place, Max followed her out behind the cabin. “What’s up? How did the meeting go?”

She leaned against the wall, ignoring the chill of the stone as it seeped through her cloak. Her eyes squeezed shut and her head fell back. “I need to ask you a favor.”

“Of course,” he nodded instantly. “Anything.”

“You say that now,” she muttered. Opening her eyes, she looked at him. Truly looked at him. Her brother was handsome, dashing in a roguish sort of way, a tiny scar by the bridge of his nose adding to his air and charm. Tall, svelte, and growing more toned by the day with the physical activities and exercise he threw himself into. He had been determined to hone his battle skills, determined to be an asset to his sister, determined to protect her no matter where she went. His hair was longer. He had not had a haircut since before they left Ostwick, and the black waves curled gently around the nape of his neck. 

“Are you growing your hair out?”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” he touched one hand to his hair. “But at this rate, I might as well. How do you think I’d look with a ponytail?”

“Like a true Antivan,” she grinned. “Maybe a pirate.”

“Ooh. I’d like that,” he smiled back. “I could totally be a pirate.”

“You’d set the boat on fire,” she snorted. “Where did you get that scar from?”

“This one?” He pointed to his nose. “I fell down some stairs when I was twelve. Bloodied it up pretty good. Why?”

“I just realized I didn’t know,” she replied quietly. “There’s so much about you I don’t know, and… I want to. I want to know everything about you.”

“Hey,” Max pulled her into his chest. “You will. We both will. What’s wrong, Kitty Cat?”

Burying her face in his robes, she sighed. “I have to ask you if you’ll go to Therinfal Redoubt. If you’ll go negotiate with the Lord Seeker for me for his templars.”

“What?! Cat, you can’t- I can’t-” he paled.

“I’m going back to Redcliffe,” Liviana pulled away and began to pace again. “I can’t leave Alexius there. But to bring that many mages back here to Haven, with just the handful of templars we have, I can’t, Max, I- I can’t do it.”

Rubbing his face, Max nodded wearily. “...I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. The mages will be treated fairly, right?”

“I’ll make sure of it,” she replied solemnly. “It won’t be another Gallows. That I swear to you.”

“And you want me to go and ask the Lord Seeker for his templars,” he groaned. “Maker, this is the worst idea ever.”

“Cassandra will go with you. And Rylen and Warden Blackwall. I’m not sending you in alone. They’ll protect you, and make sure you make it back here alive and in one piece,” Liviana said. “Sera is going too. I’m not sure if she’d give her life to save yours, but she’d at least try. I think.”

“I feel so comforted,” he grumbled. “At least I can take solace knowing you’re going to be all pissy walking into a village populated solely by mages and Tevinters.”

“Misery loves company?”

“Something like that.”

“Such love,” she swatted him.

Deftly avoiding her, Max just grinned. “So what do I have to do, exactly? Appealing to Lord Seekers and consorting with nobles wasn’t exactly the focus of my education.”

“That, dear brother, is a job for our ambassador,” Liviana linked her arm through his. “She’ll brief you on everything you need to know. We have Orlesian nobles that will be accompanying you, a Lord Abernache and some others, I believe.”

“I have to travel with Orlesians?” Max whined. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this. Find a new brother.”

Shoving him into the dim light of the Chantry and into Josephine’s line of sight, Liviana called, “Too late!”

*** 

Liviana stumbled back onto the floor, her arms flailing for balance as the portal behind them crackled and slammed shut. Her swords still gripped one in each hand, the woman whirled around to face the man who had thrown her bodily into the future. A future where the world had been destroyed. And he-

“You!” Sprinting the short distance to where Alexius stood, his shoulders sagging, crumbling to his knees, Liviana spat fire and venom, her voice thundering throughout the chamber. “You utter _monster_! Do you know what you even did? Do you care?!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Alexius mumbled. “You have won.”

“And you are dead,” she snarled. Crossing her swords at the base of her throat, she pulled back in one smooth slice. Magister Gereon Alexius’ head rolled across the dais, his life’s blood spurting over the stones. Behind her, Dorian and Alexius cried out. “Don’t even,” Liviana hissed back at them. “You saw what he did. What he did to the _world_. Do not tell me he did not deserve to die. At least it was a clean death, which was more than what sentina like him deserve.”

“He was still my father,” Felix murmured, his eyes still transfixed on the headless body.

“Your father was sordes,” she snapped.

“Firefly,” Varric stepped forth. “What-”

The sound of armored boots marching into the throne room silenced the Seeker. Warily, Liviana watched a squadron of soldiers entered the room and lined the hall, bearing the heraldry of- She squinted.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” King Alistair swept in. “Fancy seeing you here, and not my uncle, the Arl of Redcliffe. Or have you forgotten?”

“Your Majesty!” The Grand Enchanter jumped back, startled at the sight of the king. “I did not-”

“Liviana?” Alistair cut her off, his eyes finding the disheveled woman standing near a corpse. “Is that…?”

“Magister Gereon Alexius,” she replied in a monotone. “He’s dead.”

“I see that,” Alistair nodded. “And I assume you killed him?”

“Yes.”

“And you,” he turned back to the elven mage with a deep sigh. “I wanted to help, I truly did. But selling yourselves to the magisters? Kicking the rightful owner of this keep out of his own home? I cannot aid you any longer. You must leave.”

“But we have hundreds who need protection,” the older woman looked fearfully up at the monarch. “Where will we-”

“The Inquisition,” Liviana interrupted brusquely. “We need the mages to close the Breach.”

“I see,” Fiona murmured. “And what will be the terms of this arrangement?”

“Are you bloody serious?” Liviana advanced on her, heedless of how far into herself Fiona shrunk. “After what you did? You sold your people into a magister’s service. And he used your people to rip the world into shreds. Do you know what I saw in the future he sent me to? Red lyrium growing from your body. You were still alive. My people, my friends, my _brother_ ,” her voice broke and wavered, “Killed or tortured until they no longer resembled people. And you want to know the terms of this arrangement? You help fix the fucking tear in the Veil. You don’t cause any more damage than you’ve already done. And once the world is stable, and only then, will we discuss the terms.”

“I… I understand,” Fiona whispered and hung her head. “I will inform the others.”

“Firefly…” Varric inched closer to her, the Iron Bull watching her with his stoic, piercing gaze. Solas waited calmly behind them both.

“Don’t,” Liviana growled. “Not now.”

“What happened?” Alistair asked softly.

“I saw the future if I fail,” she replied in a clipped tone. “I can assure you, Your Majesty. I will not fail.”

“I believe you,” he nodded. “Whatever you need from Ferelden, just ask. I will help the Inquisition all I can.”

Inclining her head, Liviana paused. “I don’t suppose it’s too late to take that job you offered me,” she remarked almost wistfully.

Alistair just chuckled. “Leliana would have my head if I stole you away now.”

“Kaffas,” Liviana muttered. “I figured as much.”

“Save the world, and then we’ll talk,” he offered her his hand.

“Done.”

“Firefly,” Varric tried again, his voice gentle and pleading.

Pausing, she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Not now, Varric,” she murmured, seeming so much more frail and fragile than she ever had before. “I need… time. We’ll talk back at Haven.”

“I’ve never seen her so rattled,” Varric watched as she slipped out of the Chantry.

“It was a lot to take in,” Dorian shook his head. “I’m not even sure I believe what I saw. And I was there.”

“What happened exactly?" Solas asked him.

“I will tell you.”

Outside the village, Liviana saddled her horse, her arms moving of their own accord, her mind lost in that distant future she had witnessed. Just a year. A single year had passed. And the world had been torn apart because of her. Because she was not there to stop this Elder One, to save her friends. That the entire world rested in her hands… She gripped her fist and stared at the mark. She never wanted this. Wanted power of any sort. But for better or worse, she had it now. And she knew what she had to do.

_The Breach filled the sky. Swirling, churning, spitting lightning and demons with every sickening pulse. Red lyrium, everywhere. Growing from the walls, people. That discordant song strumming through her veins, prickling at her skin, making her want to open her head and scratch within. Varric. Solas, the Iron Bull. The glow of crimson within their eyes, cracking around their skin in a tainted aura. She could hear the lyrium in their blood singing to her. And Leliana..._

_“What happened to the others? Josephine? Cullen? ...Max?”_

_Leliana glared at her with eyes long dead. “Josephine is dead. Cullen stormed Redcliffe after he heard of your disappearance and was captured. Max… You do not wish to know.”_

_Liviana set her jaw. “Tell me.” She needed to hear every detail, if only to ensure it never happened again._

_Nodding, the spymaster grabbed up her bow and spoke as they wound their way through the putrid halls. “Your brother barely escaped from Therinfal Redoubt with only a handful of templars, the rest lost to a demon called Envy and red lyrium. It was not enough. When Cullen mounted a siege upon this fortress, Max accompanied him. He was captured, infected with red lyrium, and used for experiments,” Leliana replied in a flat tone. “He died the other week. It was a mercy.”_

_“Was Cullen’s fate the same?” Liviana heard herself ask. Numb. Cold. An endless void, expanding within her._

_“They fed him red lyrium as well. He… changed, like the others. I do not know where he is now. Dead, hopefully.”_

_Leliana had killed Felix not long after. That was also a mercy, given that the man was practically a ghoul, the Blight having consumed him whole. And Liviana had taken great pleasure in driving her blades through Alexius’ heart._

_Demons. More demons that she had ever seen, that she ever hoped to see in her life. Pounding on the door, straining, scrabbling for entry. Far more than Liviana could ever hope to slay. Her companions had given their life to give them more time. Varric. Solas. Even the Iron Bull. She watched them fall one by one to a demon’s claws._

_A strange new monster joined them. A humanoid creature, wearing armor, their body covered in red lyrium spikes, their inhuman screech rattling the air. It wore a fur mantle she recognized all too well. The barest hint of curls, once colored blonde, now matted with blood and dirt, covered its head. It killed Leliana and turned baleful eyes towards her, the amber no longer visible. There was only red. Crimson filled the world. Her world._

And then Dorian had pulled her through the portal. The Tevinter altus had saved her life again. Saved the world, this time, by helping her return to the present. Saved Max, and Cullen, and Varric and countless others. How much would she owe him by the time this mess was concluded? How much of her life would belong to him? She would have no new master, save herself, that much was clear. But she was indebted to him. Liviana despised him.

_“Your master was most disappointed when you disappeared. The Elder One had promised you to him.” Alexius had appeared almost resigned as she stormed into the throne room._

_“Volesus?!”_

_“You dare speak your dominus’ name?” The magister had stared at her as if she were a flea._

_“He is not my master,” Liviana had snarled, just before she lunged at him._

Volesus. It was true, he had survived and was looking for her. It did not surprise her that he had joined this cult, these Venatori. Anything for more power. Anything to reach her. And now he knew where she was. She trembled in her saddle.

No, this was no time to fall apart. She had things to do. Stop the demon army. Save Orlais, end its ridiculous civil war, and stabilize the country so they could stand firm against this Elder One.

Straightening her spine, Liviana sat up, regal and proud, cloaking herself in an aura of determination like a shroud, looking every inch a queen going to war. She would not fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I went back and forth for what felt like forever on whether she would go get the mages or templars. Originally, I figured she'd get the templars, not only for her own comfort, but for Cullen and Rylen's sake too. But ultimately, the future she sees plays an important role, so she had to go. Sorry Liv.
> 
> Side note- how do you pronounce 'neither'? Like 'nee-thur' or 'nigh-thur'? Or something else? I know it's regional, I'm just curious lol. I go back and forth all the time.


	49. Lingering Doubts

“Hey.”

Liviana said nothing as she heard Varric approach, her eyes still transfixed upon the Breach. She had been staring at it for hours now. His last words to her in that horrid future were still seared upon her mind.

_Grabbing her arm, Varric pulled her down to him and pressed his forehead against hers. “Shine bright, Firefly,” he whispered. Releasing her, he gave her that trademark crooked grin she had seen so many times on the dwarf’s face and hefted Bianca on one shoulder. And ran off to join the others, only to die minutes later, his stories forever stilled._

Respecting her silence, Varric just clambered onto the wall next to her and wordlessly held out a bottle. She took it, and drank without noticing the taste, too preoccupied with her thoughts.

“Varric,” he almost fell off the wall when he finally heard her voice, “Why do you call me Firefly?”

Taking the bottle back from her, Varric sipped at the liquor. “Have you ever seen a firefly?”

“They’re in Antiva,” she replied. “I remember trying to catch them when I was little.”

“And Rivain,” he added. “Tiny little things. Some might call them insignificant. And in the daytime, they’re not anything special to see. But when night falls, that’s when they shine the brightest. Just a tiny, flickering light to ward off the darkness, but that tiny light is all you need to show you the way. You’ve always thought you were lost and hopeless, but you’ve always had the answer, and the heart, right here,” he tapped her chest. “You’ve always thought you were no one, nothing special, but you are. You’re the light to so many. Me, Zephyr, Curly. And now all of Thedas. You are our light, and you show that it’s possible to be dealt the shittiest hand in the history of the world, and yet still be kind and good and everything that I adore about you that would make you a terrible dwarf. I won’t lie,” he sighed. “You’ve got an uphill battle ahead of you. But you won’t be alone. Have you ever seen just a single firefly? No, they’re always surrounded by others. Just like you. You’ve got me, and everyone else here. We’ve got your back, Firefly, because we know you’ve got ours. And because you’re worth it.”

“You died for me. In that future,” Liviana ducked her head to surreptitiously wipe away a stray tear.

“And I would do it again. In this future, or any other future that exists,” he added. “You’re my friend. One of the best a dwarf could ever hope for, Firefly.”

Wrapping her arm through his, Liviana rested her head on his shoulder. “Thanks, Var.”

“Anytime,” he patted her on the head. “Have you talked to Max yet?”

“Not after he gave his report to the council,” she muttered. “He’s pretty rattled, too.”

“Yeah. This is some shit, huh,” Varric sighed. “I’m glad he made it out alive.”

“Yeah,” Liviana sat up and took one last swig of alcohol. “Do you know where he is?”

“No, I haven’t seen him since- ah, shit!”

Leaping off the wall, Liviana scowled as that demon boy appeared right before the pair, both of her swords drawn and bared. “You, again.” Why her brother had insisted the demon be allowed to stay was beyond her, but both he and Solas insisted it wanted only to help, and that it was a spirit, not a demon. As if that made a difference. But given her brother’s current mental state, she had agreed. For now.

“He’s on the dock by the frozen water,” the demon stared up at her with unnaturally pale eyes. “I want to help.”

“Go help somewhere else,” Liviana grumbled as she sheathed her swords. 

“The song echoes in your head, the amber burned to red, he’s dead, my fault, this is-”

“Stop. It.” A dagger appeared in her hand and pressed to its throat. “I don’t care what I told Max, if you don’t stay out of my fucking head, I will kill you, demon.”

“I just want to help,” it whispered.

“Then stay the fuck away from me.” Shoving her knife back into her boot, Liviana stomped down the path and out of Haven. 

The wind whipped through her air, cutting through her leathers and chilling her down to her bones. But she left her cloak in her cabin. She wanted to feel something, even welcoming the physical pain the icy temperatures left upon her skin. Anything to distract her mind from the nightmare that kept replaying in her head, over and over and over, the vision that the demon had brought back to the forefront.

Cullen, a red lyrium monster, snapping Leliana's neck like a twig. Varric, impaled on a terror demon’s talon. Solas, crushed beneath a pride demon’s fist. The Iron Bull, drowning under a sea of lava. Over and over and over. Stopping beside a tree, just out of sight of the dock, Liviana let out a ragged scream, punching the trunk with all of her might. Pine needles fell in disarray around her feet.

“Fenhedis,” she hissed at the pain that blossomed through her wrist.

“Cat?” Max peered around the side. “What did you- You broke it, didn’t you.”

“Maybe,” she gripped her forearm tightly.

“For the- Let me see it,” he sighed. Gently touching her arm, Max sent ripples of magic into her body as he tugged the bones straight and healed them back into one piece. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she shook out her hand. The memory of the fracture lingered, but it was healed. “Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he turned back to the dock and walked to the edge to sit. “Did you need anything else?”

His tone was unusually curt and clipped, a far cry from the wry, teasing tone he usually adopted around her. That mischievous glint he always held in his eyes was missing as well, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Just checking on you, seeing how you were doing.”

Max stared out across the ice. “Commander is mad at me. Because I conscripted the templars.”

“He’s not mad because of that. He’s upset because the envy demon got away. And then the templars disappeared from the fortress and we don’t know where they went. If it helps, Nightingale is mad at me, too. But she’s definitely mad because I conscripted the mages.” Liviana dropped down next to him. “Forget them. They weren’t there. They didn’t see what I- what we did. I’m not going to lie,” she lowered her chin. “I’m really glad I didn’t go to the templars now. As much as being thrust into the future sucked, I don’t think I would’ve made it out intact after having a demon in my head.”

“I’m not sure I did,” Max chuckled mirthlessly. “It wanted to use me, to get to you. And once it had you, it wanted to… I saw you cut Rutherford’s throat. And mine. And you- you laughed while you did it, and- I failed to protect you. Again.”

“It wasn’t me,” Liviana grabbed his hand and pulled it to her chest. “You know me, Max. I’d never kill you, much less enjoy doing it.”

“You would if I was an abomination,” he pointed out.

“But that won’t happen,” she replied stubbornly. “And besides, it wouldn’t be you if that happened. Not anymore.”

“True,” his shoulders sagged. “Maker, I- fuck.”

“Yeah,” Liviana leaned against him. “Fuck.”

“I can’t believe those templars were actually drinking that stuff,” Max said after a few minutes passed. “You should’ve seen what it did to their bodies.”

“I did,” she whispered. “At least you managed to escape with a few. Ser Barris seems like a good man.”

“Just eight,” Max shook his head. “Out of almost two hundred that all turned on us. Maker, I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my life. Barris does seem like one of the good ones. He’s pretty, too, don’t you think?”

“For you or me?” she snorted.

“Either or,” he nudged her. “He was staring at you earlier.”

“Not surprising. They’re all, how can someone so short and mouthy be Andraste’s Herald?” Liviana giggled.

“I’m still trying to work that one out myself. So short. So loud. So irreverent. Andraste had an off day when she picked you.”

“That’s for damn sure.”

“You know I’m just kidding, right?” Max hugged her to his side. “I’m not sure if Andraste sent you or whatever the people believe, but I know there’s no one else’s hands in the world I’d rather put my life into than yours.”

“You must have a death wish then.”

“ _Cat_.”

“I get it, I get it,” she sighed. “I fight good, kill demon good. Stab stab stabbity stab dead.”

“It’s more than that,” he rolled his eyes. “It’s because of who you are. You care. And you try. And you don’t give up. That’s more than a lot of other people can say.”

“I can’t give up,” she replied quietly. “There’s too much at stake.”

“You don’t have to do it alone. You have me. And everyone else here.”

“Varric said the same thing. I’m starting to get the feeling you all care about me, or something,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Maker forbid,” Max groaned. “You’re impossible, do you know that?”

“Only for you. Thanks, Maxfield.”

“That is even worse than Maxwell.”

“I know, it’s perfect.”

“Brat,” he shoved her.

“I could just call you Dafty,” Liviana giggled.

“You have the humor of an adolescent child,” Max turned his nose up from her.

“That must be why you understand it so well.” Standing up, Liviana dusted the snow and dirt off her breeches and leaned down to ruffle his hair. “Have you had supper yet? I’m going to get something to eat. You come, too.”

“I hear and obey, Herald. Ow!”

“And you call me a brat,” she sniffed.

*** 

“You weren’t at supper.”

“I ate earlier.”

“Liar.”

“Did you need something? I am quite busy right now.”

“Yes. I need you.”

“Pardon?” Cullen’s head shot up.

“Your company,” Liviana rolled her eyes. She held up a bottle. “Drink with me.”

“I can’t,” Cullen returned his stare back to the papers spread out in front of him. “There is much to do.”

A palm slapped down upon his reports. “The mages won’t be here for several days still. You don’t have to do everything tonight. And you look like shit.”

“Only a few days,” he snapped back. “I have to find lodgings for the mages, build said lodgings, ensure we have enough food, determine the best patrol for the mage lodgings that will enough to neutralize any dangers but not too much to make the mages uncomfortable and noncompliant, secure lyrium for the templars-”

“And all of that can wait until morning,” Liviana retorted. Glaring up at him, she let a sigh escape at the sight of his worn face, her voice softening just a bit. “Are you okay?”

“Just a headache,” he mumbled. “That’s all.”

“I know you’re lying,” she scoffed. “But I’ll let it slide for now if you just drink with me. Please, Cullen?”

Maker, he could never deny her anything when she asked like that. “...Fine.” 

Reluctantly, he took the whiskey from her, tilting the cool liquid into his mouth. The alcohol burned a path down to his empty stomach, spreading a hazy warmth through his limbs almost immediately. Noticing her shiver, he reached out to take her hand, gentler this time, and pulled her towards the chair and her pile of blankets. A happy groan left her as he lit the brazier, Liviana collapsing gratefully into her seat and already beginning the tedious process of rewrapping herself in forty-seven layers of wool and cotton. He sat down at her feet and leaned against the chair while he watched her with great amusement as she snuggled down into the blankets, leaving only a single hand and her face visible. For several silent minutes, they simply passed the whiskey back and forth, drinking themselves into oblivion.

“Cullen,” she murmured after awhile. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“Of course,” he nodded without hesitation. “You’ve done nothing but help.”

“No, I mean…” Liviana blew out a puff of air. “Do you think I’m irredeemable? Sometimes I wonder if I’ve taken too many lives, if I’ve passed a point of no return.”

“If you are irredeemable, then there is no hope for me either,” he muttered, taking another swig of whiskey. “Ours is not a soft, kind world. You know that. We do what we must to keep order. No, that’s not right. We do what we must to do what is right. And that involves violence on our end.”

Fidgeting with the hem of one blanket, her fingers fiddling with a spare thread, she asked, quieter this time, “Do you think I’m damaged?”

“What?” He craned his neck back to peer at her, his brows furrowed into deep grooves. “Of course not. What brought that on?”

“Nothing,” she muttered. “Just forget it.”

“No. Tell me,” he tugged on her hand.

“Just something my mother said,” Liviana sighed, and tipped the bottle back. “Kaffas, it’s empty.”

“I’ve got more somewhere in my desk,” Cullen rose to rummage around in his drawers.

“Drinking without me? I am appalled, Commander,” she smirked as he handed her another bottle.

“Yes, well my job entails dealing with you,” he snorted. “Can you blame me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a peach,” she scoffed. “Hey. Sera was saying something about peaches the other day. Wanna hear?”

“Maker, _no_ -”

“So peaches are a euphemism for-”

“I know what peaches stand for!” Cullen spluttered. “And we are not having this conversation.”

“Oh?” she giggled. “Are you self-conscious about your skills with peaches?”

“I have been told I do quite well in that regard and Maker’s breath, I cannot believe I just told you that,” his head fell back on a groan.

“I wouldn’t know if your skills were adequate or not,” she shrugged, the light fading from her eyes. “I’ve never experienced it.”

“With no one?” He glanced up at her. “That’s rude.”

“I was a slave. No one cared about the slave’s pleasure, only their own.” _Damaged goods. No one will ever want you. Tainted. Ruined._

“You ignored my question, by the way,” Cullen yawned and stretched his arms upward. “Why would I think you are damaged?”

“My mother says I am,” Liviana whispered. “And that’s why no one wants me. To marry me, I mean.”

“No offense to your mother, but she’s wrong. Did you even want to get married?” he frowned.

“No. But… Kaffas, I don’t know,” she groaned. “Maybe in the future. But I don’t know if anyone would even want me, given my past.”

 _I want you_. The words died on his tongue before he even registered what he was thinking. “You’re strong, beautiful, kind. You’ll find someone,” was what he said instead.

“M’be,” she shrunk back into her blankets, her voice slurring a bit. “Sebastian said he loved me. But I don’t think he did. Not in the way I need, anyhow. He asked me to marry him, you know.”

“Did he.” Cullen’s heart froze and expanded in his chest, tightening and threatening to suffocate him.

“”S why I came here. Mother was so mad I said no.”

“Oh.” The air left his lungs in a deep rush. His head felt light and faint. _She said no._

“I jus’ worry he was the only one who could look past… everything. Y’know? And there won’t be anyone else.”

“I don’t see your past,” he turned to gaze up at her. Smiling, Liviana ran her fingers through his hair, teasing the locks back into their natural curls. “I just see you. Maker, that feels good.”

“You’re purring,” she giggled, lightly scratching his scalp as he nuzzled her leg. “And you call me Cat. Maybe you’re th’ cat. Or lion. Lion of Ferelden, isn’t that what they call you?”

“Josephine started that silly title,” he replied idly, too lost in bliss under her gentle touch.

“I like it. It suits you.”

Humming under her breath, Liviana continued to drag her nails through his hair, both of them content in this quiet moment and each other’s presence. No words were needed. Not between them. Sometimes, she was certain he was the only person in the world who could ever truly understand her, and she him.

“You need to go to sleep. ‘S late,” he said as he felt her hands slowly stilling, her breaths growing deeper by the minute as she neared slumber.

“Too far.” Pouting, she lifted her arms. “Carry me?” Staggering to his feet, Cullen made several valiant attempts to lift her in his arms, stumbling each time until they both crashed to the ground.

“Drank too much,” he wheezed. “Just stay here. I’ll sleep on the ground.”

“That’s stupid,” she frowned as he managed to lurch with her dangling off his arm over to his cot, unceremoniously shoving her down onto the canvas bed. “C’mere.” Tugging on his hand, he fell against her, too tired to resist.

“Hot,” he protested, pulling his shirt off. “Maker, you’re like a ball of ice.” Her body snuggled against his, pressing into his heat like a moth drawn to a flame.

“Mmm, so warm,” she sighed contentedly. “Night, Cullen.”

“Night, Cat.”

***

His head felt like someone had bludgeoned him to death. Tasting a mouth full of cotton and dead, rotting nug, Cullen groaned, his fingers grasping his blanket. Except instead of scratchy wool, his fingers grazed over soft yet scarred skin. Eye flying open, he stared down at the woman pressed against his chest, her legs intertwined with his, one of his muscled arms wrapped securely around her waist. A naked woman, clad only in her smalls, pressed against his unclothed chest. _Maker’s breath, don’t tell me I…_ No, his smalls were still on as well. Sending up a small prayer for at least that mercy, he slowly eased himself up to sitting position, wincing at the pounding in his skull.

“Mmrph,” craning her head back, Liviana blinked slowly up at him. “Umm… Well. Good morning. Did we…?”

“I don’t think so?” Suddenly, the realization struck him that they were both still in bed, his hand resting on the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts just visible beyond her arm. “I should, ah-” Jerking upright, Cullen flung his legs over the side of his cot, wincing as his vision blurred and he hit the cold ground with a grunt. “Ow.”

“Cullen! Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he wheezed. “I am never drinking with you again.”

“Commander! Are you- Ooooh, I’ll just leave-”

“Rylen,” he growled at the retreating man. “This isn’t what it looks like. Someone insisted we drink last night.”

“You didn’t say no,” she grumbled from under the blankets she had yanked over her head.

“I did, in fact. Multiple times.” Rylen tried to school his face into neutrality, but failed miserably. His face split into a wide grin, the former templar beamed down at his Commander, still hunched over on the floor.

“Do you need anything, Cullen?”

“Pants, please. And a clean shirt.”

“Herald?”

“For you to come closer so I can smack that title out of your mouth," she mumbled from underneath the blanket. "My dignity. And water would be lovely, thank you.”

Chuckling to himself, Rylen poured a glass of water for them both, unable to quit smiling as he watched them both drink the cold liquid greedily. “Looks like I missed a hell of a party.”

Groaning with each step he took, Cullen managed to finally get dressed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin by the time he finished fastening the last buckle and pulled on his gloves. “Will you be okay, Cat?” A hand rose from his cot, waving him away. “Alright. Maker’s breath, I think I need an elfroot potion. Or five. Let’s go, Rylen.”

Liviana threw his pillow over her head and buried herself again under the sheets. _I am never drinking again. ...Why does he smell so good?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Cole. Liv does not. He's such a cinnamon bun thouuughhhh.
> 
> Also, two characters falling asleep together before their romance starts is one of my favorite tropes and I will die on this hill.


	50. Wreathed in Firelight and Snow

Liviana flexed her hand within its leather glove, her eyes transfixed towards the sky. Where the Breach used to be. They had done it. The mages had arrived four days ago, and today was the day the Inquisition marched on the Breach. And closed it. Without a single life lost. It seemed too good to be true.

Smiling as she watched Max dance around with Josephine, the ambassador laughing as he spun her around in jubilant circles, Liviana leaned back against a tent pole. Everyone was celebrating. Tonight, wine and ale flowed freely, the entire village rejoicing here in this moment. The Breach was sealed. There was still much to do, but tonight, they would laugh and drink. Tomorrow, they would get back to work.

“You are not going to dance?” Cassandra walked up next to her.

“Only if you do,” Liviana smirked as the Seeker scoffed. “You know, you’re just as much of a noble as I.”

“True,” she nodded. “I will admit it is nice, to find another who rejected the life that was set before them. We both wanted more than to be a pretty ornament upon a shelf. We wanted to do something meaningful.”

“I suppose this counts as meaningful,” Liviana mused. “Saving the world, and all.”

“I would say that qualifies, yes,” Cassandra chuckled. “Is Sera… dancing?”

“Something like it,” cocking her head to one side, both women watched as the elf pranced in wild, drunken circles around the Iron Bull and Blackwall, both of them laughing with their boisterous crowd, Varric perched on a chair nearby telling a story to a group of giggling children. By contrast, Vivienne was locked in demure conversation with several nobles on the opposite side of the newly formed village square, Solas and Dorian both talking quietly to the side of the Chantry. “Everyone’s so happy.”

“Thanks to you.”

“And you. And everyone else,” Liviana added. “Commander, not dancing?”

“You know I don’t dance,” Cullen walked up to them. “Leliana might, if you ask her nicely.”

“I am content to just watch,” the spymaster smiled sweetly, not a single shadow in sight on her fair face. “We all needed tonight.”

“Oh dear,” Josephine giggled as she adjusted her dress and patted her hair back into place, her face still flushed. “Herald, your brother is such a lively person.”

“He’s like a peacock,” Liviana grinned. “All feathers and flair.”

“Are you sure that you are the younger one?” Leliana asked. “It seems it should be opposite.”

“Doesn’t it though?”

“I sense people talking about me,” Maxwell mock scowled, feeling their gazes aimed in his direction. “What’s my dear sister saying now?”

“That you are immature, and I, far more cultured.”

“Yes, that definitely helps your argument,” Cullen teased.

“Why aren’t you dancing,” Max turned to his sister.

“You know I don’t,” she scoffed.

“But you’re the hero of the day,” he tugged on her sleeve. “Your people need to see you acting like a human for once.”

“They’re not _my_ people,” Liviana shoved him away. “Not like I’m their lord, or anything. And I do act human.”

“Commander, would you say my sister is human?”

“I… yes?” Cullen blinked down at the mage. “That is, she is rather short to be a Qunari. Maybe she’s an elf. No, too small to be an elf.”

“And far too skinny to be a dwarf,” Varric add as he walked up to join them. “Also, she’s a terrible liar.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Liviana stuck her tongue out at all of them. “I’m going to go talk to Rylen. At least he’s nice to me.”

She had just reached the barrel that Rylen was seated upon when the bells began ranging, the chimes ringing out above the din. “What’s that?” 

“The Chantry bells,” Rylen frowned and rubbed his chin. “What-”

Cullen sprinted up to both of them, his eyes wide and his teeth grinding together almost audibly. “Our scouts report seeing an army over the mountain,” he pointed past the gates, handing her a spyglass. 

Raising it to her eyes, Liviana squinted. “Templars,” she murmured. “I recognize the armor. Could these be…?”

“The ones who have been taking red lyrium?” Cullen nodded grimly. “I believe so. I can hear it even at this distance. The red lyrium, that is. Did you see who leads them?”

She lifted the spyglass again. “No,” Liviana gasped. “Is that- Samson? Why is he with them?”

“Samson?” Rylen asked.

“A former templar. He was thrown out- it doesn’t matter. We need to get everyone to safety,” Cullen shook his head. “I’m sending men out to the trebuchets, we can trigger an avalanche if we hit that slope but we need to keep the templars off of them long enough for them to set and aim.”

“I got it,” Liviana nodded and began searching for the others. “Seeker, Qunari-”

“I’m coming, too,” Max appeared at her side.

“No, you need to help the people,” she shoved him towards the Chantry. “There are going to injuries soon, and a lot of them.”

“Cat-”

“Max, those are templars! What will you do if one purges you?”

“I-”

“I’ve got her,” the Iron Bull rumbled, clapping one massive hand on his shoulder. “I’ll make sure she makes it back alive.”

“Uh, thanks,” Max nodded towards the Qunari.

Liviana was already racing off towards the gates, yelling more names as she went. “Sera! Blackwall! Keep the templars off the trebuchets! Solas, Dorian, Vivienne! Make sure everyone gets inside the gates! And stay away from the templars!”

“Maker keep her safe,” Max whispered as he watched her fling herself headlong into the wall of soldiers. “Please.”

“Healer! We need a healer!”

“I’m coming!” he yelled. _Please keep her safe._

*** 

“We’re going to die, but we can choose how spitefully we end this.” Cullen watched as her piercing gaze swiveled to lock with his, understanding written in her stormy depths. Liviana was not one to lie down and die without a fight.

“There is a path,” Chancellor Roderick croaked. His hand and robed were both soaked in blood, a templar’s sword having speared his side earlier. The recalcitrant cleric had refused all mage assistance, insisting they preserve their mana for others in a move that surprised more than a few people, Cullen included. “You would only know it was there if you had taken the Summer Pilgrimage, like I have. There is another way.”

“Cullen,” Liviana bit her lip as she surveyed the chaos within the Chantry. Everywhere, villagers and soldiers alike huddled together, grim, despairing, resigned, terrified, sobbing. “Can you get everyone out?”

“I can,” he nodded, plans already forming in his mind.

“It won’t work,” the spirit demon thing spoke up. “The Elder One wants you, and he will kill everyone to get to you.”

“Understood,” she glared at it. It was a small comfort to know she hated the thing as much as Cullen did. Only the love and respect she held for her brother, and the fact that it saved Max’s life, kept it alive and within Haven. “He can have me. I’ll create a distraction, long enough to give you time to get the people out.”

She meant to use his idea, he realized with a start, and turn the trebuchet to the mountain above. Cause another avalanche and bury Haven. But- “But what of your escape?” Cullen took an involuntary step closer to her, panic scrabbling at his senses. The familiar spices that he was so accustomed to in her hair were overlaid with smoke and sulfur, dark streaks of dirt and rusted blood marring her skin, and he remembered with perfect clarity how it felt to wake up with her in his arms, her face buried in his chest, her scent filling his lungs. How her heartbeat had felt against his.

Liviana smiled at him. Obsidian hair glinted in the firelight, the glow wreathing her head in a warm halo. That smile, soft and gentle, curled upon her full lips, and he knew then as his world narrowed to just her. _Maker’s breath, but she is beautiful_. His heart clenched, and he thought he might faint except for the deep ache that gripped his chest, tugging on his very soul, anchoring it to their dark reality and he _knew_. He was in love with her. And she was going to die.

“Get the others out, Cullen,” she replied softly, yet firmly. “I’ll take care of the rest. And make sure my brother doesn’t do anything stupid, will you?”

“Catalina-” he reached out to grab her wrist. He wanted to stop her. Beg her not to do this, that he would find another way. But there was no other way. For the rest of the people to live, she would have to die. If only he could go in her stead. Or stay by her side at the very least. His duty was clear though. The oath he had sworn to the Inquisition was not so easily forsaken. All he could do was- “Take this.” Liviana turned back to him, and glanced at what he held out.

“That’s a coin.”

Cullen swallowed, barely able to form his words through the tightening of his throat. “It’s for luck,” he managed to say.

As her fingers grazed his palm, he was struck by the desperate wish to rip off his gloves so he could feel her skin against his. She lifted up the worn coin with a wry grin, the coin given to him by his brother years ago, the coin that had seen him through every sort of tragedy imaginable… and led him to her. Perhaps it could bring her back to him. “No faith in me, Rutherford?” She teased as she tucked it into a pocket in her armor, patting it safely into place.

“I have all the faith in you,” he murmured. “But a little extra help couldn’t hurt.”

“Thank you,” her hand gripped his. “I’m counting on you, Cullen.” His eyes searched her face, trying desperately to memorize every freckle, the curves of her scars, each tiny wrinkle and line that crinkled near her eyes and lips. 

“I won’t let you down.” He swore it, would have it writ in his blood if she asked it of him.

“You never have.” One last smile, and she turned away from him and headed for the door, only to be stopped by the others.

“You don’t have to come,” he heard her say, biting her lip yet again as she spoke to the Seeker and Varric and the Warden.

“You think we’d let you face this alone?” The dwarf chuckled, twirling a crossbolt in one hand. “Besides, it’s not all that bad. We’ve been through worse shit than this, Firefly. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Liviana remarked dryly. “Blackwall, Cassandra, you don’t-”

“My place is at your side,” the Seeker insisted.

“I will follow you wherever you have need of my sword, my lady.” Cullen frowned as Blackwall bowed to her, and she grinned in response.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

“Commander?”

Tearing his gaze away from her form, silhouetted against the torchlight and the inky blackness of the night beyond the doors, Cullen stared at his second blankly.

“Commander, your orders,” Rylen urged. “She’ll make it back to us. But we need to be out of here, so she’ll have somewhere to go. She’ll find us.”

Cullen abruptly nodded. He had a job to do, and she was counting on him. “Send a few soldiers to harness up the druffalos and whatever wagons that are close enough to the Chantry. I don’t want anyone venturing past the walls. Threnn! Grab what we’ll need to survive a march through the mountains. We’re not coming back here.”

“Aye, Commander!”

“Commander!” Max ran up to him, panting, his hands braced against his thighs. “Where- Cat-”

Cullen placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “We need to get the wounded out of here,” he replied in a low tone. “Anyone who can still walk. And grab whatever supplies you can manage. They’re bringing wagons around the back.”

“And if they can’t walk?” Max’s face hardened at the response he written in the pained lines on Cullen’s face. To save the many, they would have to sacrifice the few. “...I understand. Where’s Cat?” Following where the Commander’s eyes flicked towards, Max’s jaw fell slack. “ _No_. No, she couldn’t- She can’t have just gone, I need-”

Cullen grabbed his arm as the mage made to race out of the Chantry. “You need to help the wounded and prepare to evacuate. She’s giving us as much time as she can so we can get everyone out.”

“And you just let her go? She’s done enough for us!” Max yelled, wrenching his arm back, his face twisted into a snarl. “She’s suffered enough! She’s not supposed to die like this! I’m supposed to protect her, I’m supposed to- to-”

“She made me promise to not let you do anything stupid,” Cullen muttered, as if that would help.

Max barked a sharp laugh, pacing in a tight circle. “I- _fuck_. Fuck fuck fuck.” He whirled away, his boots stomping towards a few mages that stood off to the side. “Ansleigh! Keller! We have work to do. Commander-” Emerald eyes blazed in the dim light. “She will come back. She has to.” It sounded like a threat.

Cullen nodded mutely. _She has to. This cannot be the end. I- I Iove her. Andraste, guide her. Maker, save her. If I’ve done anything worthwhile in my life, please hear me. Bring her back to us. Bring her back to me._

***

Every breath was agony. _So I’m not dead. Unless death hurts like after a night with Magister Rasinius._. Dragging her eyes open, every blink akin to dragging broken glass over her body, Liviana stared up into the murky darkness, counting the seconds until her eyes adjusted to the faint light.

She was in a cave, one of the many that ran underneath Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes. By all accounts, the Hero of Ferelden had explored this cave and killed the cult that was breeding dragons down here. _I wonder if they missed any eggs. Wouldn’t it be my luck to run into a dragonling right now?_

Motionless, Liviana laid there upon the cold, hard ground. Her body felt like one giant bruise, and by the sharp, searing pain in her side, she would hazard a guess a rib or two had been broken in the fall. Licking her lips, she noted there was no taste of blood. _So I haven’t punctured a lung. Yet. Which means I will probably live. ...Dammit. Haven’t I done enough? I could just stay here. Drift off to sleep. It would be a relatively painless death. And the others…_

_Is the mighty Victorem seriously considering laying down to die, just like that?_

_Technically, I’m already laying down, so..._

_Get up._

Her head turned to one side, and she felt something slide against her collarbone. Her necklace. She was so used to the weight that the halla pendant and ring had become more like an extension of her body, and she rarely noticed it these days. Funny that she noticed it now.

_You have to get up._

_That would hurt though. I’m so tired of the pain. I don’t want to be used to pain anymore. I just want it to stop._ The mark flared on her hand, and Liviana hissed at the shock. 

The Elder One. Corypheus. Another magister from Tevinter who desired more power than he could wield. And this mark- An accident. Which was fine with her, she had never truly thought she was sent by Andraste or the Maker. So the Maker’s throne was empty? It only reinforced what she had always known. The Maker was gone. Abandoned his children, aeons ago. She shouldn’t have felt so… empty at the revelation. _There is no Maker._

_But there is Maxwell. And a Cullen. And a Varric, and Rylen, and Isabela, and Cassandra and so many more people who will mourn you until the end of their days if you don’t come back._

_They would be fine without me._

_Do you truly think that?_

_…_

_Besides, you have the mark. There are still rifts out there, Cat. Still people who need you._

_Fenhedis._

There were still rifts. All over Ferelden, Orlais, even the Free Marches and Nevarra. Rifts that would continue to spew demons to terrorize the people until she closed them. The only one with the ability to do so.

_And Corypheus is still out there. Or will you let a magister destroy the world because you were too tired, too scared to get back up?_

_I am not scared._

_Prove it._

“Fuck you Cal,” Liviana muttered hoarsely. Bracing herself, gritting her teeth, she slowly shoved herself up onto her feet. _No cloak. No swords. No potions or tonics or fucking anything useful. I’ve got… three lockpicks, two daggers, a length of twine? Why do I have twine? And Cullen’s coin. Cullen…_

She could still see the way he had looked at her before she left. For a moment, she had thought herself back in the Fade, with that warm glow in his eyes, begging her to understand something that was beyond her ken, his breath soft on her skin. What would it be like to be loved by him? To be wanted, cherished for who she was? Did she want to find out?

_He’s just a friend. He cares for me, but just as a friend. He’s not in love with me._

Why did she want to be wrong?

_Left foot. Right foot. Kaffas, it hurts so much to walk. And- oh, fucking hell. Is that seriously a blizzard?! Now?! I changed my mind. I’m going to sit my ass right here, and just die. No way in the fucking Void am I going to survive that._

_How do you know if you won’t even try? What ever happened to, I want to die fighting?_

_I hate you._

_You know I’m just you, right?_

“Yeah,” Liviana’s voice was lost into the howling wind. “But it’s nice to imagine you’re still here with me, Cal.”  
 _  
No one you love ever truly leaves you._

She cocked her head to one side, ducking her chin down to ward off the worst of the snow. _Are you sure you’re just me? Because I don’t think I thought that._

Cal’s giggle echoed in her memory. _You’re the one who told me that, when we were kids. Don’t you remember? When I cried for my Mamae one night. You held me, and told me that she would always be with me. Because it was what your mother had told you when your grandfather passed._

_That’s right. Grandfather. I remember him. And his large, droopy mustache. He used to sneak me candies when Mother and Father weren’t looking, and forever smelled of woodsmoke. I haven’t thought about him in decades._

Lost in the memories of her youth, Liviana smiled to herself as her legs mechanically climbed the mountain slope, the snowdrift rising by the hour. Using the partially buried debris that the refugees left along the path to guide her, she steadily made her way through the storm, arms wrapped tightly around her body, her hair and lashes frosted over.

_After this is over, I’m moving to Antiva. Fuck Ferelden and its Maker-forsaken winter. Why do people willingly live here? They’re all crazy. Cullen, Alistair, Hawke’s family. All of them. I can’t feel my feet. Or my hands or face. Actually, I feel… warm. That’s not a good thing, is it? At least I’m trying._

_Left foot._

_Right foot._

_Left f…_

_Ri…_

_Dammit._

Her feet crested the slope she had been ascending for what seemed like hours, and Liviana breathed a tiny sigh as she reached the top, the last one she had left. She was done. It was over. Her body collapsed into the powdery snow, the fluffy snowdrift enveloping her like a cloud of cotton. _This isn’t so bad. It’s nice, actually. Soft. Warm. Was that enough, Cal?_

_Yes, it was. You can rest now. He’s got you._

_He?_

With the last of her strength, Liviana raised her head. Were those… campfires? And that shape, rushing toward her? Was it calling her name?

“Cat! Catalina!”

“Herald!”

“It is her!”

“Cat,” she heard a man sob brokenly above her. Strong arms tucked underneath her tattered body and gently cradled her to a solid chest. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

“D’you kee’ your pro...mi…” Liviana managed a drunken slur, her frozen lips and hazy mind barely able to form coherent words.

“I did,” Cullen whispered into her frozen hair. “I got everyone out. Max is waiting on you, and you’re going to be fine.”

“Goo’... Looks like th’ coin… s’lucky after all…” she mumbled.

“I suppose it was,” Cullen smiled through the tears clouding his eyes. “Stop talking now, and save your strength.”

“...Rude…”

Cullen’s laugh was almost hysterical. She had found her way back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost made the title a Frozen reference. "The Snow Glows White on the Mountain Tonight". It was on repeat at our house forever, but the toddler finally moved on and is now obsessed with Monster's Inc and Toy Story instead.


	51. The Night Before the Dawn

Maker, her body was like ice. Hurrying down the mountain and back to camp as quickly as he could without jostling her injuries too much, Cullen scanned the sea of bodies for her brother. “Maxwell! Trevelyan!”

“Is that-” Max’s head shot up. “Cat! I need a tent. And blankets, a shit ton of blankets.”

“Here,” Solas pulled back a flap to an empty space, ushering them all inside. “Lay her here.”

Max was already scanning here even before Cullen had set her down. “Three ribs fractured on the right side,” he muttered. “Collarbone’s broken too. Beginning of frostbite in her hands and feet. I can’t believe she walked all the way here through that storm with these injuries.”

“Anyone else would not have made it,” Solas agreed, running his own hands over her body, pouring what was left of his magic into a heat spell to dry her hair and clothes. “I’m afraid I don’t have any mana left in me.”

“I’m almost out too,” Max realized as Solas rose to his feet and left. “And we don’t have any lyrium potions left. Fuck, I should’ve saved some for her, I should have-”

Cullen cut Max’s tirade off before he could even start. “You helped the others, saved lives that would have been lost on the march here. That was what your sister wanted. You know that. She’s here now, and she will live.”

“I know,” Max sighed. “I can heal the worst of her injuries, but we need to bring her core temperature back up. Slowly, I don’t want to overload her system. Where’s the blankets?”

“Here,” Cassandra ducked in. “These are all I could find.”

“I hope these are enough,” Max tucked the thin layers of wool around her still body. “Dammit, are there any other fire mages with mana left?”

“You know she wouldn’t like that,” Cullen replied softly.

“I don’t give a fuck what she likes right now, I’m trying to save her life,” Max snapped. 

Tugging at the back of his neck, Cullen sighed and flushed. “I can lay next to her. Body heat is a good remedy for hypothermia. I learned that growing up as a lad near the Frostbacks.”

Max narrowed his eyes at the man. “You-”

“Do you really think I’d take advantage of her?” Cullen glared at him. “Especially with her like this?”

“I- No.”

“I also run hot, naturally,” he added.

Leaning over, Max frowned as he pressed a hand to Cullen’s head. “More like you’ve got a fever. That’s not good.”

“It is nothing,” Cullen shoved his hand away. “I’ll stay with her. She trusts me, and more than likely will not stab me should she wake up next to me.”

“That’s true,” Max nodded. “Go ahead then. I’ll be back in to check on her in a bit.”

“We, ah, need to strip her down to her smalls at least,” Cullen’s face burned a bright red. “I don’t- I can’t-”

“Shit,” Max glanced at his sister. “I don’t want to either.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Cassandra elbowed past them both. “I will do it. Commander, take off your armor and clothes as well.”

“Yes, Seeker,” Cullen mumbled, his fingers fumbling with the buckles of his plate.

“I’ll just leave you to it then,” Max rushed out of the tent, eager to see neither of them in their smallclothes.

“Ridiculous,” Cassandra shook her head, gently easing Liviana out of her tunic and leggings.

“Can you blame him?” Chuckling a bit, Cullen folded his clothes neatly and stacked them off to the side.

“I suppose not,” the Seeker sighed. Watching as the Commander slowly eased his body in next to Liviana’s, observing how tenderly he cradled her against his chest so that she could soak up his warmth, Cassandra smiled. “Sleep well. I will coordinate with Rylen to take care of the troops.”

“Thank you, Cassandra.”

His arm slid underneath hes head as he turned onto his side, pressing as much of her frigid skin against his as possible. Lifting his other arm, he stroked his fingers through her hair that still smelled of smoke and sulfur. But as he moved, the barest hint of jasmine drifted up to him. _She came back._

“Cullen?” Liviana murmured, her head shifting restlessly.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

“Cold.”

“I’ve got you.” _Always._

Gray light peeked through the cracks in the tent, the early dawn arriving far too soon. Yawning, Cullen’s muscles twitched as he made to stretch, surprisingly well rested for once. Then he remembered. Cat. Skin that was once blue and pale had darkened back to its normal rosy hue, her mouth slightly open as she slumbered on, the tiniest bit of drool escaping her lips. She was adorable. And remarkably different asleep than she was awake. She looked… peaceful. Soft. An adjective he would never have dared even think before this moment, but it was true. 

“You’re staring at me. I can feel it.”

He smiled to himself. “I am.”

“And now you’re smiling.” One gray eye peeked up at him. “You know, we have got to stop waking up like this.”

“You’re not trying leave,” he pointed out.

“Warm,” she muttered, snuggling in closer to him. Chuckling, he pulled her in closer.

“Better?”

“Mmm. What happened last night?”

 _You died. And then you came back_. “We got everyone out. You bought us enough time to gather what we needed and escape. Haven is gone though. You- I watched you-”

Her fingers tightened against his arm. “I’m still alive. I told Tavish I was a cockroach. Maybe I was on to something. Ooh. Maybe I’m invincible.”

“I’d really rather not test that,” he remarked dryly.

“No no, this is good. Remember that giant fighting a dragon at the Storm Coast I told you about? I could-”

“ _No_.”

A sleepy giggle bubbled up from her. “Spoilsport. How’s Max?”

“Tired,” Cullen replied. “We didn’t have time to grab enough lyrium potions for the mages, so everyone’s been running on reserves between the fighting and the healing and the other little magics, like keeping the children and wounded warm enough.”

“And Varric? And Cassandra and Blackwall?”

“They all made it back safely. Although Varric was distraught to leave you behind.”

“I had to throw a dagger at his head to make him leave,” Liviana grumbled. “It was only when I ordered Blackwall to pick him up and carry him that Varric relented. Corypheus only wanted me. There was no way I was going to let that meddlesome dwarf sacrifice himself for me. Again.”

“Corypheus?” Cullen pulled back just a bit to glance down at her. A lock of hair had fallen across her face, and he pushed it back, trailing one finger over the faded scar on her cheek.

Her eyes locked onto his. “The Elder One’s name. I think he’s one of the Magisters Sidereal,” Liviana whispered. 

A sharp intake of breath whistled through his teeth. “One of the magisters who entered the Golden City? The ones who created the darkspawn?”

“He _was_ a darkspawn, Cullen. He looked like one, rotting flesh and all. But he spoke.” She shivered at the memory. “And he was tall. Taller than even the Iron Bull, and yes, I know everyone is taller than me,” she rolled her eyes and laid a finger over his lips before he could speak. “Hush.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he smirked.

“Liar. So,” her finger gently tapped the end of his nose. “Why did you give me a coin, of all things? Was it really lucky?”

“It was for me,” he blushed a bit under her regard. “My brother, Branson, gave it to me the day I left for templar training. He claimed it was lucky, when in reality it was all he had in his pocket at the time. I shouldn’t have kept it; it was against the rules. Our faith was supposed to be enough to see us through.”

“For shame, Cullen,” Liviana mocked gasped. “You’re such a rebel.”

A gentle snort blew against her face. “Right. Either way, I survived. Kinloch. Kirkwall. Haven. I should have died so many times. And yet… I’m not sure if it really is lucky. But you came back. So perhaps...” A shoulder lifted in a tiny shrug. “Who knows? With your rotten luck, it certainly couldn’t hurt.”

“Hey,” she giggled, one hand slapping against his chest. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“True,” he chuckled. His eyes grew warmer, the amber almost glowing in the rising light of the sun that filtered into the canvas tent, his voice dropping into what felt like a lover’s caress against her soul. “And for that I am eternally grateful.”

“Cullen, I-”

“Cat-”

Both of them breathlessly laughed as they spoke at once. “You first,” Liviana smiled.

Cullen took a deep breath. “Catalina, I wanted to-”

“Is she awake?”

The pair flew apart at the sound of Maxwell’s voice, both of them desperately untangling their limbs from the other. A faint blush stained both of their cheeks. Max raised an eyebrow at their antics.

“Oh? Did I interrupt something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Liviana muttered. “You look like shit.”

“Yes, well working nonstop while running for my life through a blizzard and draining all my mana repeatedly will do that to a person,” he replied dryly, kneeling down beside the bedroll. “Oh, Commander. The other advisors wanted to see you, as soon as you’re ready.”

“Of course,” Cullen shifted the blanket aside. “I’ll go now.” It took him barely any time all to dress himself in the clothes he had worn the day before, his fingers easily buckling his armor around his mantle. Fastening his furred mantle around his shoulders, he nodded at them both and was gone.

“So what was that?” Max asked as he worked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Liviana huddled back under her blankets petulantly. “He was warm. I was cold. I am cold.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure. Well, it looks like I’ve healed the worst of it. But you need to take it easy for a few days at least. Your body sustained a lot of damage,” his face tightened. “Maker, I’m so mad at you. For leaving me behind like that.”

“Max-”

“No,” he shook his head, dirty hair flopping into his face. “I know why you did it. And I understand and respect it. But I’m still mad. Furious, even. I could have lost you again, Cat. And I was helpless to do anything.”

“You saved so many other lives,” she uncovered one hand to rest it against his forearm. “That’s worth more than one sorry former slave.”

“Not to me,” he glared down at her. “Now, you are going to lay right here on this bedroll and not move a muscle until I tell you to, do you understand me? Or I will put a paralysis glyph on top of your arse.”

“I have to pee,” she glared back at him.

“Ugh, for the love of- Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll call one of the Sisters in to help you.”

“I don’t need-”

“ _I am calling someone to help_.”

Shrinking back from the tone of his voice, eerily reminiscent of their father’s, unyielding, commanding, demanding to be obeyed, the voice of a lord, Liviana just meekly nodded. “Okay.”

He shot her one last glare of admonition before he disappeared back outside of the tent, Mother Giselle walking in moments later. In hindsight, it was perhaps a good thing she had help to stand, for her body was still battered and bruised and her muscles shaky and overextended. Max may have healed the worst of her injuries, but the pain and swelling remained and would for some time. None of the mages had mana to waste right now with Maker knew what still ahead of them, and she was not about to let any other mage save her brother or Solas near her anyways.

Mother Giselle’s touch was gentle as she helped Liviana back to her bedroll and eased her back down, tugging a clean set of clothes over her head and legs. “Do you think you can stomach a bit of food, Herald?”

“I can try,” she replied.

Her fingers were shaky as she tore the roasted rabbit into bite sized pieces, but eventually, she managed to eat enough to sate her for now. Taking a long pull of the crisp, clean water that the woman brought her, Liviana laid back now, thoroughly exhausted for now.

“Sleep, Herald,” Mother Giselle smoothed back her hair. “I will stay with you.”

Nodding, Liviana drifted back off into the Fade.

***

A ray of blinding late afternoon sun streaming across her face woke her up several hours later.

“Sorry,” Varric winced as he let the tent flap fall shut, Liviana blinking the dancing spots from her eyes. “I just meant to check on you.”

“I’m alive. Blind maybe now, but alive,” she grinned up at him. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” he shrugged, arranging himself on the ground next to her, his legs crossed in front of him. “So. I’m pissed at you.”

She pulled the blanket back over her head. “Get in line. Max claimed dibs on that already.”

Varric just shook his head. “I should have stayed with you.”

“No, you should not have,” she retorted, flinging her blanket down so she could stare him down. “I watched you give your life for me before, remember? I do not want to live through that again.”

“Death is guaranteed for all of us, Firefly,” he glared back.

“Yes, it is, but I’ll be damned if you die because of me,” she snapped. “Not on my watch, dwarf.”

“You are the most stubborn, infuriating, annoying human I have ever met,” he fell back with a huff and a scowl upon his face.

“You have met Hawke and Maxwell, yes?”

“Even more so than either of them.”

“Well, now I’m offended.”

A tiny smile broke through his stony visage. “You should be,” he chuckled after a moment of heavy silence. “It’s the worst insult I can think of.”

Laughing, her eyes fluttered shut. “I’m not going to apologize for sending you away.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” he sighed. “Just… Well, I would ask you to not do it again, but I doubt you’d listen.”

“Probably not,” she agreed cheerfully.

Sitting back a bit, he studied her for a moment. “Say. The Elder’s One’s name. Curly mentioned you said it was… Corypheus? Was that right?”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“And you’re positive?” Varric gave her an odd look.

“Very. Why?”

Scratching the back of his head, Varric slowly stood up. “It’s just- I’m not sure, to be honest. See, Hawke and I fought this darkspawn thing. A year before you came to Kirkwall. It’s name was Corypheus too. But… That can’t be,” he muttered. “He was dead. I checked. Shit. Might send a letter to Hawke, see if he remembers anything differently. Anyways. I’m glad you made it back,” he reached down to pat her on the head. “Get some more rest.”

The rest of her companions filtered in at various point as day turned to night and she drifted in and out of wakefulness. Cassandra said very little as she sat in the dim tent, her gaze almost reverent as she watched Liviana, while Sera jabbered on about everything and anything, talking for the sake of noise. “Too quiet now,” the elf had grumbled. “Don’t like it. Unnatural.”

The Iron Bull had also came to sit and chat for a spell, his single eye grim as it flicked over the bruises that covered her arms and shoulders. “So. It’s a ‘Vint, huh.” He plopped down next to her.

“An ancient magister,” Liviana scowled, viciously pulling at the threads on her blanket. “One of the original darkspawn.”

“So that’s what the Inquisition is going to do, right? Go after him?”

“I’d assume so,” she glanced up at him. “Having second thoughts about signing on with us?”

“Fuck, no,” his horns swayed as he vehemently shook his head. “I’m even more excited now. Killing ‘Vints is my thing.”

“Does Krem know that?”

“Krem isn’t a ‘Vint,” the Qunari grunted. “He’s just Krem.”

“I think I almost understand that,” Liviana said slowly. “I think. My head’s still a bit fuzzy.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “Glad you made it back, boss. The people are really happy, too.”

“Bull,” she caught his arm as he stood up. “...Thank you for staying. You didn’t have to, you’re just a merc. But you did.”

Tipping his chin down, acknowledging what she wasn’t saying- apologizing for her previous suspicion- the Iron Bull smiled. “I take my jobs seriously, little warrior. And besides, if you fail at closing the rifts, I gotta deal with demons forever and I don’t like that idea much.”

“Don’t call me little warrior,” Liviana growled, her tone at odds with her piteously tiny bundled up form. 

“But you are. Look, you’re the same size as my bicep almost.”

“I changed my mind. As soon as Max lets me up, I will kill you in your sleep.”

The mercenary just winked at her. “Oh, you can join me in my bed anytime. Little Boss.”

“Ugh,” was all the response he got as she pulled her blankets back over her head

Night had fully fallen when Max came back in to tend to her again. “How are you feeling?”

“Bored,” Liviana cast a baleful glance his way. “I want to get up. Is someone arguing?”

“Your advisors. They’ve been on and off all day. No one knows what to do next,” Max sighed. “I don’t want you walking around quite yet, either.”

“Can I at least go sit outside then? I’m sick of staring at the wall,” she complained.

“You do realize you almost _died_ yesterday, correct?”

“I might die today. Of boredom if you don’t let me out of this tent,” she muttered under her breath.

“Impossible,” Max bent down and tucked his arms under her back and legs, being careful to keep the blankets wrapped around her. “There’s some cots outside near the fire. I’ll let you stay there if you behave.”

“Thank you, my lord. You are so kind.”

“Cat…”

“I’ll behave, I’ll behave.”

Snuggling down into the hard bed, Liviana watched as the rest of the people wandered in aimless circles around the camp, the mountain peaks towering high above them. Where would they go? All of these people… Where could they go that would be safe from Corypheus? A place where they could rebuild the decimated Inquisition? How many people had they lost? By her count, there should have been at least three times as many people here as there had been in Haven. So many were gone now, lost forever. And she… She had survived. Why?

The mark, the anchor, as Corypheus had called it, slept now, just the barest tinge of green energy covering her palm. Because of this? Had she been saved by Andraste?

_More like you just don’t know when to quit. All you know is how to survive, you’ve been doing it for so long._

Cockroach. She conjured an image of the insect, two tiny swords gripped in its legs, with braids for antennae, and she giggled at the ludicrosity of it. A laugh that turned into a hacking cough, and more than a few odd glances were cast her way. After all, there was nothing funny about their situation at the moment. And her advisors were still arguing.

_Maker. What are we going to do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more snuggles :)


	52. Interlude

The sun glinted bright and blinding off the snow ahead, and Cullen raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. He could see Liviana up ahead, walking sedately between the Seeker and Solas, the three of them having been engaged in conversation for some time now.

Skyhold. A hidden fortress deep in the mountains, lost to time. It seemed too good to be true. But Solas was now one of the few mages Liviana trusted given the number of times he had fought at her back, so when the elf told her such a place existed, she believed him. Cullen was more cautious, yet he followed her anyways. He would follow her to the ends of Thedas, if necessary.

Her haunted eyes, terror lurking in their stormy depths, still occupied the forefront of his mind. How she had stood before the camp, stricken, as the people came to kneel at her feet. She didn’t want this, want the adoration and worship. But he couldn’t think of a more deserving person than she. How she took the time, even though it was obvious to him at least that she was uncomfortable, to talk to everyone who approached her, taking extra care to make the children smile and laugh. She just shrugged when he mentioned it. “They’ve already lived through enough heartache and fear. They’re far too young to have seen so much death and demons.” She would know. If she could, she would ensure that no child would ever have to grow up with the fear and abuse she had. It just made him love her more.

“You’ve been staring at her hours now.” Max joined him.

“He has, hasn’t he?” Varric cheerfully took up the other side of Cullen. The Commander just groaned and buried his face in his hands. _Of all the people._

“I have not been staring at her,” he protested. “I’ve been studying the terrain.”

“Sure. All those curves and dips in the landscape,” the Iron Bull caught up to them, sketching an exaggerated hourglass figure with his hands in the air.

“Nah, she doesn’t have anything close to that shape,” Varric drew a shape that was more rectangular than anything. “Too toned. Nice rear, though.”

“Gross,” Max wrinkled his nose. “Please stop before I throw up. She is my sister, you know.”

The Iron Bull grinned. “Your sister is hot.”

“Ew.”

“We are not having this conversation,” Cullen muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She is our Herald. Have some respect.”

“She’s still Firefly though,” Varric shrugged. “You know that better than anyone.”

That he did. Shaking his head, Cullen continued to march, glancing back behind him to survey the people. Most were exhausted, still nursing pains and aches and bruises from the trip and the fighting. The mages fared worse than the villagers, since most of them had spent their whole life within a Circle’s walls. They weren’t built for scaling mountains and such hardships as these. And they let everyone else know it.

The headache that hadn’t left him since Haven was better out here, though. For at least on the march, he could stay near the front of the group, the mages all electing to stay huddled together somewhere near the middle instead, no doubt pestering Josephine instead, the poor soul. And the fresh mountain air did wonders for his fever as well. _My fever… I still haven’t told Cat about the lyrium yet. She is going to kill me when I do. Perhaps I should start taking it again. If I had been on it, would I have been able to better prepare Haven? Could I have mounted an appropriate defense? Or at least gotten more people out?_

“So,” Max glanced over at him, the Iron Bull and Varric drawn into their own conversation regarding the virtues and pitfalls of liking redheads, “You and my sister, huh.”

“There is nothing between me and you sister, Trevelyan,” Cullen replied stiffly, keeping his gaze focused on the path ahead.

“Sure. And I just walked into what exactly this morning?”

“We were talking. Nothing more.”

“Of course,” Max nodded sagely. “I too gaze longingly into peoples’ eyes and tenderly caress their cheek when I’m just talking to them.”

Heaving a sigh, Cullen pulled at the taut muscles behind his neck. “Fine. I will admit to- caring for her. But there can be nothing between your sister and I. She deserves someone so much more than I.”

“I’ll agree with that,” Max replied amicably. “But I would add that she deserves someone who would love and respect her for who she is. And she seems to like you. For some reason I can’t fathom. Maybe it’s the hair? Nah, the scar.”

“S-She does? She likes me?” Cullen hated the fact that he sounded like a green lad, overeager at his first crush, but that was how to felt at the moment.

“Oh, Maker, you are oblivious,” the mage groaned. “Both of you. She enjoys your company. She’s always seeking you out. Haven’t you noticed?”

“We’re friends,” Cullen frowned. “She seeks out Varric, and Cassandra, and Rylen as well.”

“Yes. But she’s different with you. She’s…” Max searched for the right words. “Softer. Maybe more open, vulnerable. I’m not sure. She’s just different with you in a way that she’s not around anyone else, not even me. And see, now you’re smiling.”

Opening his mouth to protest the fact, he closed it shut with a snap as soon as he realized the mage was right. He was smiling. Smiling at the thought of her being comfortable enough around him, of trusting him enough to be vulnerable with him. What had he ever done to deserve such an honor? “That is good to know,” he replied quietly. “I would never do anything to harm her.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that. She’d stab you herself if that happened,” Max snorted. “But just in case, templar- If you ever break her heart, my sister coming after you will be the least of your worries. She’s lived through enough heartache and pain. Don’t add to it.”

“I understand. Trevelyan,” a thought occurred to him, the serious turn of their conversation making him wonder. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four. Why, how old are you?”

“Thirty-one. I did not realize you were older than me. I thought the opposite, in fact.”

Max grinned as he kicked a rock out of his way. “That’s because I enjoy life. And you know, all things fun. Also I know how to take a break. You, on the other hand…”

“I do fun things,” Cullen insisted.

“Oh yeah? Name one thing you like to do that’s fun.”

“I like to play chess.”

“Chess.” Max stopped dead in his tracks, his breath forming little white puffs as he stood staring at the Commander. “ _Chess_. I seriously don’t know what she sees in you. Chess. Maker’s balls.”

“What’s wrong?” Liviana paused at the top of the ridge, watching her brother with a curious tilt to her head.

Pointing at Cullen, all Max got out was, “Chess! Chess.”

“Er,” she blinked at him, entirely bewildered. “Chess?”

“Chess!” And throwing his arms up in the air, Max stomped off to go walk with Cassandra instead.

“Is Maxwell broken? Did you break him?”

“I am not entirely sure what just happened, to be honest,” Cullen shrugged nonchalantly. “I did not realize he was thirty-four.”

“Seems younger, hmm?” She smiled. “He’s three years older than me.”

“So we’re almost the same age,” he mused. Shaking his head, he bit back a chuckle as the Seeker turned to glare at Maxwell for whatever he had just said, and shoved him away. “So what were you all talking about?”

“Hmm? Oh. Solas was attempting to explain the differences between the spirits and demons to me,” she wrinkled her nose and he was struck with the urge to kiss it. “I don’t think it matters, really. But he seems to think it does. And Cassandra even acknowledges that they are not the same. But,” she shrugged. “All I hear is that a spirit is a demon waiting to happen.”

“I am inclined to take your side on that matter. It’s starting to get dark. We should pitch camp soon.”

“I’ll go tell Leliana,” Liviana offered, and jogged back to find her. She was shapely, Cullen mused as he watched her leave, regardless of what Varric had insinuated. Enough of a curve at her waist to fit his hand perfectly, and her ass- _Maker’s breath. I need to stop mooning after her like a lovesick puppy_. Turning back around, he caught sight of Varric and the Iron Bull, both of them grinning like idiots at him. _They saw me, didn’t they?_

“Studying the terrain again, Commander?” Varric called back.

“Odd thing, to be studying what we’ve already passed,” the Qunari added with a chuckle. “Unless…”

“I hate both of you,” Cullen muttered, shoving past them both. “We’re setting up camp. Now.

Their laughter followed him for what felt like forever.

*** 

The scent of roasting ram made his mouth water, and it was with eager hands that Max accepted his portion of it. Glancing around the camp for a dry place to sit, he spotted a fallen log near another fire where only one other person was sitting and made his way over.

“If I ask to sit, will you hit me again?” He grinned down at Cassandra who pointedly refused to look up at him.

“You may sit,” she replied abruptly. “And I barely touched you. Although, you should know I do not appreciate your jokes, Enchanter.”

Settling down next to her, Max balanced his plate on his knees. “I wasn’t joking, Seeker. I really do think you’re beautiful.”

“I…” A frown creased her brow. “I am unsure of what to say, to be honest.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Max shrugged. “I just wanted you to know. I don’t suppose you have anyone special, do you?”

Her hands fell to her lap. Staring down into the fire, her words were almost lost in the darkness. “I had someone. He… died. At the Conclave.”

“Shit,” Max winced. “I’m so sorry, Seeker, I-”

“No. It is alright.” She glanced over at him and picked up her food again. “And you may call me Cassandra, if you wish.”

“Max.”

“Your sister said I should call you Maxfield,” a hint of a smile played on her lips.

“My sister is asking for a snowball down the back of her shirt,” Max grumbled.

“You and her are very close, for all that you did not grow up together,” Cassandra observed. “It is sweet.”

“She’s still my baby sister, no matter what. Do you have any siblings?”

“I had an older brother, Anthony,” she replied, her voice falling again. “He was killed, when I was younger. By blood mages.”

“Maker take me,” Max groaned. “I’m so sorry, Seek- Cassandra. I’m just going to stop asking you anything personal from now on. Maybe I’ll learn to keep my foot out of my bloody mouth.”

To his everlasting surprise, Cassandra laughed. Laughed. True, she was laughing at him, rather than at something witty he said, but… Maker, she really was gorgeous. Her eyes sparkled with mirth in the firelight. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago. I miss him still, but it no longer hurts as much as it once did.”

“I can’t even imagine,” he sighed. “If I ever lost Cat… I don’t even want to think about it. She’s my best friend, for all that we fight all the time.”

“Anthony and I were the same,” she smiled. “We argued constantly, but I worshipped him. I am glad Liviana has you, and you her. She needs all the support she can get in these trying times.”

“Do you really believe she was sent by Andraste?” Max asked softly.

“I do,” Cassandra nodded decisively. “I know that she does not believe so, but after everything she has survived, all that I witnessed, how could I think anything else? The Maker and Andraste saw fit to send someone who could stand firm against the corruption and darkness, someone strong enough to bear the weight of the world and the weight of the hopes of and dreams of the people. They sent her.”

“It’s hard to imagine her as a savior. I still think of her as the little girl in pigtails and a dress, trailing after me in the yard, both of us covered in dirt. She was the worst tattletale ever,” Max chuckled at the memory.

“Thinking of her as such is not a bad thing. Your presence will help keep her level and to retain her humanity. Something I fear she will need in the months to come. Hers is not an easy path, and I do not envy her it,” Cassandra watched Liviana with a softness framing her dark, piercing eyes as the Herald laughed with Sera and Blackwall.

“Nor do I,” Max followed her gaze. “She’s been through so much already.”

“And I fear we must ask more of her.” Sighing, Cassandra rubbed her shoulder, wincing at the tenderness of the muscle.

“Are you injured?”

“It is nothing, simply a small strain,” the Seeker brushed off his concern. “I will be fine.”

“Please,” shifting towards her, Max held out one hand, his palm facing her. “You don’t have to deal with the pain. I can help.”

“You should not waste you mana on me,” she began.

“I have enough mana to heal a little strain,” Max’s smile was gentle and teasing. “I am a proficient healer, after all.”

“More than proficient, I would say. We would have lost many more without your talents. Very well,” she sighed. “I will not object should you wish to heal me.”

“I thank you, my lady,” Max’s grin pulled crooked, his voice dropping into sarcasm at her magnanimity. 

“You are teasing me,” she noted.

“I am.”

“You should not.”

“I can’t help it,” he laughed. “It’s ingrained into my being. I only tease people I like, if that makes it any better.”

“You- what- It- Ugh,” Cassandra stood up, too flustered to say anything coherent. Her face burned red in the light of the fire, her eyes narrowed in suspicion at the mage, who merely held up his hands again.

“All done.”

Rolling her shoulder, the Seeker nodded brusquely. “Thank you.”

“What, no lecture for me?”

“Like you would heed a single thing I say.”

“On the contrary, I hang off every word you say, my lady.”

“Do not mock me.” Her boots stomped in the snow as she took a menacing step towards him, bristling at his words.. 

“I wasn’t,” Max settled his arms down by his side, leveling a gaze as serious as she had ever seen him make at her. “I meant every word I said. Cassandra.”

“I… That is-” Her head jerked from side to side. “There is work to do.”

Liviana watched as Cassandra stormed off away from her brother, a most curious mix of emotions warring across her face- displeasure, fear, anger. But repugnance was not one of them.

“Struck out, didn’t he?” Sera grinned.

“Seems like it,” Liviana replied off-handedly. What had her brother said to make the Seeker that mad?

“Can’t blame the man for trying though,” Blackwall grunted. “The Seeker is a beautiful woman.”

“Yeah, she is,” Sera nodded enthusiastically. “All tall and strong and- Hey, Iron Bull.” The Qunari glanced up from several spots away, surrounded by his men. “What are your women like? In the Qun? Are they as big as you?”

“Oh shit yeah,” he grinned. “As tall as any male Qunari, and most of them are,” his muscles bulged as he flex. “You know.”

“Wow,” Sera sighed dreamily. “I’d like to meet a lady Qunari. They sound great. Hey Liv. What’s your ideal type?”

“Of women or men?”

“Women,” the elf made a gagging motion. “Who cares about the men? All those extra danglin’ parts, swinging about. Gross. Looks like a mushroom.”

“It does, actually,” Liviana thought for a moment. “But hopefully any you’ve seen aren’t moldy or spotted like a mushroom. That sounds disgusting. And contagious.”

“Ew!” Cackling, she fell off the barrel she was perched upon. “Hey Beardy, is your-”

“Mine is not moldy or spotted, Sera,” Blackwall sighed. 

“Bull?”

“Not mine either,” the Iron Bull called over. “Mine’s actually really smooth, with this great big vein that runs along one side of it, and-”

“Do I even want to know what you are talking about?” Cullen paused as he approached their circle, his eyes warily flicking from person to person.

“Spotted and moldy penis,” Liviana offered helpfully.

“Cully-Wully, is yours-”

“ _No_ , Sera.”

“Hmph,” Sera pouted as Cullen turned away. “Someone needs to take the stick outta his arse.”

A snicker escaped Liviana, and she immediately clamped over her mouth to stifle it. Cullen’s head whirled around at the noise, and he glared back at her.

“I heard you laughing, you know. You can’t hide it.”

“I was not,” she bit her lip, mere seconds away from losing her battle to her mirth. “Ser Stick.”

Sighing as both women burst into raucous laughter yet again, Cullen shook his head and left them. _Maker preserve me. Those two are such trouble together._

_But the way she looks when she laughs..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff! Skyhold is next :D


	53. Skyhold

Skyhold was massive. Her mouth agape, Liviana slowly turned about in a circle in the overgrown courtyard, admiring the heavy stones that made up the fortress, still mostly intact after Maker knew how long. Centuries, probably, given the state of disrepair and allowing for the fact that not one single person had known it was here. The roof in several parts need new shingles and thatching, and dust and debris covered every square inch of the place, but for the most part, the walls appeared structurally sound. She said as much to Cullen, who nodded his agreement.

“Still, I don’t want anyone going in until the engineers clear the place. That includes you, Cat,” he called out as she crept away. “It would be your luck to live through everything you have, only to be squashed like a bug by a rock.”

She paused. “Roaches are quite squishable. Very well.”

Unsure of what else she could do, Liviana rolled up her sleeves and grabbed a broom and a rag, and set about helping to clean the place, working side by side with the rest of the people. More than a few nobles expressed their dismay that their Lady Herald would deign to scrub a floor, but were soon pressured and shamed into helping themselves. 

She liked the manual labor. The toll the physical exertion took on her body means she slept soundly all night, her slumber for once not fitful and filled with nightmares of demons and darkspawn and blood. The others pitched in too. Max was busy setting up the infirmary while Bull and his Chargers were always scurrying about, clearing out the keep room by room, hauling dilapidated furniture into the yard to be salvaged and discarded. Blackwall and Cassandra could often be found with an stack of lumber upon their shoulder, or a hammer in one hand, and she had even spotted Sera and Varric a time or two helping to clean. And all the mages, including Solas and Dorian and Madame de Fer, took their turns in manipulating water and fire to burn through the refuse and wash away the filth until the entire keep sparkled from the cornerstone to the tallest tower. 

Setting down a stack of crates, Liviana wiped the sweat from her brow. Maker, it was so much warmer within the walls that it was outside. There were even flowers growing here in the overgrown garden, mixing with weeds and tangled brambles. Something about ancient elven magic, Solas had said. Whatever it was, she was grateful for it, odd magical oddities notwithstanding. Anything that made the weather more tolerable was welcome by her.

Her hands planted against her hips, she turned to survey the courtyard. A movement towards her right caught her eye. Vivienne and Solas were squared off from each other, a scowl on the elf’s face and the usual haughty sneer on the First Enchanter’s. Max was caught in the middle of both. Walking over, Liviana crossed her arms across her chest. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s Cole,” Max sighed. “The spirit.”

“It is a demon,” Vivienne frowned, a tiny, delicate thing.

“It is not a demon,” Solas explained as if he were talking to a child. “Cole was a spirit. But he is something… more now.”

“Like a demon?” Liviana offered helpfully.

“No,” Max shot her a glare. “He’s human now. Or something similar to it.”

“That is impossible,” Vivienne began.

“It should be,” Solas cut in smoothly. “But as you can tell, his body is corporeal. He is not possessing anyone. Nor is he an abomination. It is something I have never seen before.”

“All the more reason to get rid of it,” Vivienne retorted. “An unknown creature within the Inquisition? We already have our share of… apostates,” she raked her gaze over his ragged clothes with thinly veiled disgust. “We do not need more magical outliers amongst our people. It is a nonentity, and cannot be quantified. Therefore, it must go.”

“Cat, please,” Max turned to his sister. “Cole isn’t dangerous. He’s a spirit of Compassion, he just wants to help.”

“Help,” Liviana echoed hollowly. “And just how can it help?”

“He does well with staying out of sight,” Solas replied. “And he has a talent for making people… forget him. He won’t be a danger.”

“I don’t know if I have the authority to even allow it to stay,” Liviana rubbed her temple with two fingers. 

“The advisors will listen to you. Please, he saved my life Cat. I owe him this, at least,” Max pleaded.

Dropping her forehead in her hand, Liviana groaned. “If it harms a single person, it dies, Max.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he caught her up in a gripping hug. “I’ll make sure he understands.”

“Fenhedis, put me down, you big oaf,” Liviana wheezed, pounding on his shoulders to make him release her.

“I hope you don’t regret your decision, Herald,” Vivienne remarked as Max sped off to find the spirit.

“I hope I don’t either,” she sighed. Nodding her leave towards the mages, Liviana wandered off in the direction of where the stables would be, finding Blackwall busy at work tearing down the rickety old barn that had once stood there along with a few other recruits. “Need a hand?”

“Not going to turn away help,” he grunted, throwing several planks of broken lumber onto the pile.

Bit by bit, they cleared that corner of the yard out, burning all the scraps of unusable wood. The soldiers had built a temporary shelter for the horses down in the sprawling valley below the fortress, but Master Dennet insisted that the horses needed more secure lodgings, and Liviana was inclined to agree. Those were fine breeds who deserved something more than just a lean-to. Sturdy they may be, but not even the most hardy Ferelden strider was made for a blizzard in the Frostbacks without any sort of protection.

“You don’t shy away from the hard work,” Blackwall watched as she hammered a few planks into the new section of wall.

“I like the work,” she spoke around a mouthful of nails. “It keeps me busy. Idle hands and all.”

“You make me proud to be a part of this,” Blackwall hoisted the wall up into place, pulling the rope on its makeshift pulley system. Liviana’s hands braced against the panel along with several other worked, waiting for the rest to secure it in place.

“Aye, Herald,” one of the other men spoke up. “It’s an honor to serve under you.”

“You don’t serve under me,” Liviana shook her head. “I don’t really have any sort of official position here. If anything, we serve together. We’re all in this together.”

“Aye,” a few others eagerly bobbed their heads. “Together.”

“I think your position might be about to change,” Blackwall muttered under his breath so she could not hear him. “Liviana, I think the Seeker’s looking for you.”

“Hmm?” Glancing up from the stock of lumber at the approaching woman, Liviana set her hammer back down. “Did you need me, Cassandra?”

“If you don’t mind,” the Seeker nodded. “Come, walk with me.”

*** 

_Inquisitor. Inquisitor Liviana. No, that sounds wrong. Inquisitor Evelyn. Tch. Inquisitor Trevelyan. Trevelyan. Well, I am a Trevelyan I suppose. Maker, I need to write Father and Mother and explain everything that’s happened. Josephine said that she sent them a message to let them know I was alive at least, but… I haven’t written them at all since this mess started, have I? Mother will be thrilled. More power and status to the family name._

Inquisitor Trevelyan. It sounded so odd. Unanimous, Cassandra said the decision was. Cullen, Leliana, Josephine- they had all decided she was the best option to lead them all. Her, a former slave and general nobody. Liviana wondered if they had all lost their mind.

“You’ve been leading us all along,” Cassandra had told her. “This just makes it official.”

Before, she had just been following her instincts. But honestly, what did she know of troop movements, or diplomacy, or subterfuge? All she knew was how to fight, and how to kill things until they were dead. And that grapefruit spoons were not soup spoons.

“That is why we are here,” Leliana had smiled. “We are your advisors, and we are here to help you in any way we can. Together, we will make the Inquisition a force to be reckoned with. We will restore order to Thedas.”

Together. She would not be alone. She had Max, and Varric, and the others, all waiting for her call to arms. And her advisors excelled in their respective fields. Leliana had lived her entire life in the shadows, and Josephine was a lady with a talent for words and diplomacy that rivaled none. And Cullen, well her Commander- _my Commander?-_ was a master strategist, able to create contingency plans for his contingency plans at the drop of a hat. She could do this, with their help.

She just had to lead them. An entire organization, full of soldiers and spies and diplomats and merchants and craftsmen and every other sort of person in between, against an ancient darkspawn magister and his army of corrupted templars who wanted to destroy the world. She was just the person at the forefront of it all, the person about which her critics would unearth every sort of vicious rumor they could dig up about her past. _Runaway slave. Sellsword. Murderer. Mage sympathizer. Whore. Trash. Broken. Damaged._

The person they would blame throughout history if she failed.

_Oh Maker, this is going to be a disaster._

Groaning, Liviana let her head fall against the ramparts, barely feeling the crisp spring breeze as it ruffled through her hair.

“You doing okay, Firefly? Or should I say Inquisitor now?” 

“I will throw you off the wall, dwarf,” Liviana mumbled into the stone. 

Varric patted her on her back sympathetically as she sunk down with her back against the wall, her head buried in her hands. “It’s not all bad.”

“You’re not suddenly one of the most important people in the world,” she sighed. “The person that will go down in history as the most incredible fuck up Thedas has ever seen.”

“True,” he crouched in front of her. “But you know we’d never let you fail. Besides, you haven’t let me down once yet. I have faith in you, Firefly.”

“That makes one.”

“Do you really think they would have made you Inquisitor if they didn’t think you could do it? Come on, you’re smarter than that. They picked the person they knew could win this. The one with enough determination and courage and skill to get things done. You.”

Unbidden, a smile rose to her lips in spite of herself. “Thanks, Var.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he grinned, helping her to her feet. “Pep talks are my thing, you know. Let’s go. I’ve got a present that will cheer you up.”

“Is is alcohol? Because I haven’t had a drink in forever.”

“It’s even better,” he laughed as he led her down the battlements to the tower in the far corner. “In here.”

“Well, now I’m just suspicious,” Liviana stepped into the gloomy light. “I swear, if anything jumps out at me-”

“Boo!”

“Bloody _vishante fucking kaffas_ , what- Hawke?!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Hawke opened his arms wide, a grin stretching from one ear to the other. “Hey, Liv.”

“Hawke!” Laughing near uncontrollably, Liviana rushed to meet the man with a crushing hug. “You know I almost threw a dagger at you for that.”

“It would have been worth it,” he chuckled. “You should have seen your face. Priceless.”

Pulling back a bit, Liviana glanced around the room. “Did you bring- Fenris!”

“Liviana,” the elf nodded from where he stood, leaning against the far wall. He approached her far more sedately than his mate. “It is good to see you.”

“And you,” she smiled, lightly touching his arm.

“What have you both been up to? How is Bethany and Carver?”

“They’re fine,” Hawke replied. “Safe and sound in a small village a few days west of Ansburg.”

“Doing what?”

He shrugged. “Farming, mostly. What? We were farmers, back in Lothering before we moved to Kirkwall. It’s a life they know. And the change of pace has been nice. Although Carver is chomping at the bit to get out and do something.”

“They could come here,” Liviana offered. “I would welcome both of their help. Another templar would be nice to have.”

“I’ll send word. So, Inquisitor, eh?”

“Ugh,” Liviana wrinkled her nose. “Apparently.”

“And the Knight-Captain is Commander,” he stated sourly, almost glaring at her, as if he were accusing her of this change. “Varric says he’s changed from Ser Mages Are Not People, to actually trying to work with them. Is that true?”

“He’s trying, Hawke. We all are,” she replied softly. 

“And yet the Inquisition still conscripted the mages,” his voice was bitter.

“That was ah, me,” Liviana bit her lip. “It was more than they deserved, to be honest.”

Fenris grabbed Hawke’s shoulder as the mage took a step closer to Liviana. “You know she had good reason to do it, Hawke. You read what Varric wrote about what happened.”

“I know.” Frustrated, he ran a hand through his shaggy black hair and began pacing the length of the small room. “I just don’t want this to become another Gallows.”

“The mages aren’t as closely watched here as there were there. Mainly because we don’t have enough templars to do it, but still,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “Cullen watches his men closely, and Fiona knows to bring even a hint of a rumor of abuse to us straightaway. I won’t tolerate what Meredith did, not even close. And Tranquility is no longer an option, not for the mages under our care.”

“That’s good to know,” Hawke murmured. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse you-”

“It’s fine. You’ve been on the run for a long time, Hawke. It isn’t an easy life. Always seeing shadows chasing you, always wary and on guard.” Liviana reached up to grip his forearm. “You could stay here, as well. Both of you.”

“But the Chantry-”

“Fuck the Chantry.”

Hawke snorted. “Glad to see you haven’t changed one bit.”

“I think I have. We all have. It’s been a long four years,” she leaned against the wall.

“That is has. So, Corypheus,” Hawke sat down on a spare barrel. “He can control Grey Wardens somehow, you know. Has Varric told you the story yet?”

“No.”

“I was waiting on you,” Varric pulled up a crate. “Gather ‘round kids, it’s story time.”

***

Her mind still reeling, Liviana wandered along the battlements, idly nodding to the few who passed her and saluted. Another thing for her to used to. Pausing at the door of a tower room a little ways down, Liviana knocked and let herself in at the beckon. Cullen glanced up from his desk. “So, I heard Hawke is here.”

“He has a Grey Warden contact,” Liviana perched on the edge of his desk, smiling a bit as he protested, just the same as he had when he was Knight-Captain. “Hiding out in Crestwood. They were researching the red lyrium together, but had to go underground after Corypheus surfaced. Hawke says Corypheus has some sort of connection with the Wardens through the Blight. I’m not sure exactly how it works. But Hawke says his Warden friend may have more information about the Wardens so I’m going there to meet with him. It’s a lead, at least.”

“Crestwood, Crestwood…” His hands rustled through the stack of papers scattered across his desk, searching for something- “Ah. Crestwood. There are several rifts that have been sighted in the area, and one in particular that’s apparently causing the dead to rise.”

“Have I mentioned I hate undead?” Liviana pouted.

“Apologies,” Cullen smiled. “I’ll send a message to Leliana, see what other information her scouts have about the area.”

“Alright. I think I’ll take Blackwall and Solas along for this one. And Varric. He’s terrified that Cassandra will kill him.”

“It is a legitimate concern. She will not be pleased once she finds out,” Cullen groaned at the prospect. “And you’re abandoning me with her.”

“Skyhold is a big place,” Liviana shrugged. “And you’re a big boy. You can defend yourself against her. I think.”

“You think,” he snorted. Glancing around his desk, Cullen sobered a bit as he eyes fell upon a carved wood box that was partially hidden under a sheaf of parchment. “Cat- Liviana, there was something I wanted to tell you.”

“Using my full name. This sounds serious.” She shifted so she could face him more fully, her own features knit in concern.

“It involves… lyrium,” his fingers traced the carving atop the box. “I no longer take it.”

“You- _Cullen_.” Her palms slapped against his desk as she shifted forward, her eyes churning with some potent emotion that he could not quite place. Anger? Fear? “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want to be chained to the Chantry, with their bloody lyrium leash any longer,” Cullen grit out. “I still may one day lose my mind to it. But I want a chance. I want at least the opportunity to live and die on my own terms. And I cannot have that chance if I remain tethered to lyrium.”

Her face stilled, her features writ in stone. “Will you end up like Samson did?” She asked quietly.

“Serving a darkspawn magister?” He scowled. “I should think not.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I mean… How he was in Kirkwall. How the other expelled templars were. Begging down in Darktown.”

“It is always a possibility,” he met her gaze with a hint of guilt. “But I believe I can do this.”

An errant lock of hair that framed her face blew as she huffed out a deep sigh. “Alright.”

“Cassandra is watching me. She will find a replacement for me, should it come to that,” he lowered his head.

Her hand, so much smaller than his own, reached out to cover his. “It won’t. Whatever you need, Cullen. Just tell me.”

“Thank you,” he gripped her fingers tightly. “It means a lot to me, to have your support.”

Giving his hand one last squeeze, she pulled back. “How do you feel?”

“Headaches, mostly. It is tolerable.”

“Your fever, is that…?”

“Yes.”

“And the way you move, as if you’re in pain?”

“...It is my joints and muscles. They ache sometimes.”

“Cullen.”

“...Most of the time.”

“Maker’s breath,” she pursed her lips and shook her head. “Let me tell Max about this. He may be able to help you.”

Cullen frowned. “I would prefer not to use magic.”

“He’s a decently skilled alchemist, too,” she pointed out. “I’ll tell him no magic, and he might find something to help manage your symptoms until you get through this. Is that acceptable?”

“It is,” he nodded. “Thank you.”

Cocking her head to one side, Liviana considered him. “You know, I don’t trust you not work yourself into the ground while completely ignoring your health while I’m gone. You are going to write to me with how you are doing. At least twice a week. And if I even think you are lying, I will give Sera full leave to do whatever she wants to your office.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “You would not dare.”

Planting her hands on the edge of his desk, Liviana smirked. “Try me, Rutherford.”

“Very well,” he grumbled. “I will endeavor to be as honest as I can.”

“We shall see if that’s good enough. I’m off to inform the others. We’re going to try and get an early start tomorrow, leave around dawn. And Cullen,” she paused by the door, the rays of the setting sun draping her in golden light. “I am proud of you.”

A smile rose to his lips, that familiar tightening of his chest making him rub his sternum as she slipped back out. Without another glance, Cullen stowed the carved box with his lyrium tools in the deepest corner of his office, and got back to work.


	54. Correspondence

_Cullen,_

_I hate rain. I hate darkspawn. I hate giant spiders. I hate the undead. One guess as to what all Crestwood contains. How are you feeling?_

_Liviana_

_***_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_I cannot say I hold much fondness for spiders or the undead, but rain is usually pleasant. It brings back memories of when I was child in my family’s farm. Max concocted something that helped my headache the other day, but my joints still ache. He’s working on a remedy for that as I write. I am being completely forthright, I swear. (Please tell Sera to stay away from me.)_

_Commander Cullen_

_***_

_Cullen,_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan looks weird. Please don’t write that again. I’m glad your head is better, and I hope the rest follows. Have you been sleeping well? Apparently the rift that is somehow inside the lake is causing all the undead, so we’re going to try and drain the lake and find a way into the caves underneath. The Blight hit this place hard._

_We met Warden Jean-Luc Stroud today. I remember him, vaguely. He passed through Kirkwall the night of the explosion. I was in too much of a panic that night to recall anything else, besides his fabulous mustache. I sent most of our conversation in the official letter to Leliana, about the Calling and his suspicions about his Order. Hawke is going with Stroud to the Western Approach first, and I’m going to close all the rifts here and then meet them._

_Liviana_

_PS. Tell Blackwall Stroud sends his regards. It’s a shame Blackwall didn’t want to come meet his fellow Warden, although I suppose he is being very useful lifting large objects around Skyhold._

_PPS. Have you been eating?_

_***_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_You need to get used to seeing and hearing your title. Inquisitor. You cannot keep making faces every time someone says it. Yes, I have been eating. Although not much these past few days. Max’s latest potion gave me terrible indigestion, and food has not been my friend recently. It is starting to pass now._

_I never have slept much, and it is not much different now. I still have nightmares, but they are not too terrible. We’ve received your report on the Wardens, and Leliana is most distraught. She’s sent a raven to Denerim to ask the King if he has any other information, as well as sent scouts to track down the mayor of Crestwood. I cannot believe he did such a thing to his own people. Absolutely despicable. He will face your justice, I assure you._

_Please be careful on the journey to the Western Approach._

_Commander Cullen_

_***_

_Cullen,_

_I do not make a face when someone calls me Inquisitor. Only when you do it, really. Max says his latest creation helped. Did it? Or were you just telling him that so he’d stop feeding you odd potions all day? He mentioned you’ve been rather short with him lately._

_I forgot about Alistair. I suppose he and Elissa are both hearing this false Calling now, aren’t they? And what do you mean my justice?_

_So. Much. Sand. And I severely dislike darkspawn. There’s an old fortress out here, full of bandits. I’m going to take it from them. They’ve been a pain in my arse._

_Inquisitor ~~ ~~Trevelyan~~~~ Liviana_

_PS. Kaffas, that looks weird to even write. I can’t do it._

_***_

_Inquisitor Liviana,_

_Is that better? The potions did help. There has simply been a lot of work recently, and numerous recruits keep pouring in to the Skyhold by the day. I am in the process of promoting a few others so I can find time to breathe. Rylen is helping to train them before he leaves for the Western Approach. I will sorely miss his expertise and level head in Skyhold, but I need someone I can trust out there._

_I meant what I said, your justice. You are the Inquisitor. Judging any prisoners we take falls to you now. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine._

_Commander Cullen_

_Ps. Cassandra has destroyed seven training dummies now. Which, I suppose, is better than her killing Varric. Sera put bees in one the other day, and I feared for the elf’s life for awhile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Seeker this mad. Tell Varric to update his will, just in case._

_***_

_Cullen,_

_Varric is not amused by your sense of humor. Does Rylen know how hot it is out here? And how much blasted sun there is? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were punishing the man. We’ve been scouting around, looking for the Grey Wardens. If we don’t find them soon, I’m going to be sorely tempted to say the desert can have them. I did not miss the desert heat. At least it’s not humid like Vyrantium was._

_I cannot judge people. This is a terrible idea. Who’s idea was this? It was yours, wasn’t it? Tell Josephine absolutely not. I stab people, not judge them._

_Liviana_

_[Inquisitor Trevelyan has been written a dozen times in varying script and sizes at the bottom of the page, with a small note scribbled in one corner that reads: Varric says I should practice writing it, so I’ll get used to it. Still weird.]_

_***_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_Commander Cullen has informed me you are worried about judging the mayor of Crestwood and any other prisoners we might obtain in the future. I assure you, we all have faith in your judgement, but of course, I will go over the possible options with you beforehand and any and all ramifications that would stem from each. I would not send you out there ill equipped, Inquisitor._

_Your mother has written to us. Again. I have enclosed her letters. If you find the time, please write her back. And I have reports of distant relatives of your House that are abusing their connection to you. Cousins, I am told, multiple times removed from your father’s side. I have included the options that I and the other advisors have prepared. Do tell me which route you would prefer to take._

_Sincerely,_

_Lady Josephine Montilyet_

_***_

_Lady Montilyet,_

_I like Leliana’s idea. But instead of rumors of assassins, let’s just send assassins._

_Inquisitor Trevelyan_

_[Each letter of her title is written in precise lettering.]_

_***_

_L-_

_Rumors have been put into circulation._

_L_

_***_

_Catalina-_

_Why is there a child in my office who refuses to leave until I finish my meals?_

_Cullen_

_***_

_Cullen,_

_I may have hired her to keep an eye on you. My sources have indicated you are not eating enough. Or would you rather me send Sera in?_

_Liviana_

_***_

_Catalina-_

_Is this a wise use of the Inquisition’s resources?_

_Cullen_

_***_

_Rutherford._

_She’s 9. If it makes a difference, I’m paying her from my own coin, anyhow, coin that is going to her younger siblings’ care, both present and future. Rilla was adamant that she would accept no handouts, despite the fact that everyone in the Inquisition is fed and clothed no matter what, so I offered her this “job”. She takes it very seriously. Don’t disappoint her. Eat._

_Liv_

_***_

_Cat-_

_...This is low, Inquisitor._

_Cullen_

_***_

_[The next letter is simply a series of smiley faces and forks and what appears to be drumsticks of some sort of poultry, with Inquisitor Trevelyan scrawled across the page several times in varying script. There is also a bee with a pronounced rear end, and a note that reads: For Sera.]_

_***_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_We have reports of templars and mages who remained in Hasmal, who wished to remain unaffiliated with the Lord Seeker and the mage rebellion. They are hesitant to journey to the Inquisition and join us, given the state of our relations with the Chantry and the danger the civilians pose to the mages._

_The arcanist we sent for has also arrived at Skyhold. She is… enthusiastic, to say the least, and looks forward to meeting with you when you return._

_Lady Montilyet_

_***_

_Josephine,_

_Cullen would know what to do better than anyone else, I daresay. Let him do what he feels is best. And please give the arcanist my regards. I will speak with her as soon as I am able._

_Liviana_

_***_

_Inquisitor._

_Why am I getting reports of you fighting a high dragon?_

_Commander Cullen_

_***_

_Cullen-_

_Well, it attacked us. We were just going to bait it like Frederick asked us to, but it attacked instead. Self-preservation, really._

_Cat_

_***_

_Evelyn Catalina Trevelyan,_

_YOU BAITED IT?_

_Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford_

_[There are several rips in the parchment, as if the paper was stabbed with the nib of a quill, or if the writer had applied a great deal of force while writing.]_

_***_

_C-_

_Your middle name is Stanton?_

_Cat_

_***_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_You and I will have words when you return._

_Commander Rutherford_

_***_

_C-_

_But I got you lots of shinies from the dragon._

_Cat_

_***_

_Inquisitor-_

_Crafting materials are hardly worth your life. Do not do this again._

_Commander Cullen_

_***_

_Curly,_

_Somehow your last letter to Firefly was eaten by a varghest. She claims she never got to read it._

_Varric_

_PS. Were you serious about the will thing?_

_***_

_Cat,_

_Trying to get information from your boyfriend is impossible. He’s so vague about everything, acting all tough macho templar about his symptoms. How am I supposed to help him if he won’t tell me what’s wrong?”_

_Maxmilian_

_***_

_Sera, do it._

_L._

_***_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_I know that elf was in my office. Something is off, and my desk is tilted, and I could not find my copy of LeMarche’s Treatise this morning, where it should have been on my bookshelf next to Laveux’s Trebuchet Designs. When I get my hands on that elf, and you, I swear..._

_Commander Cullen_

_***_

_Curly,_

_Firefly wanted me to tell you that a varghest ate that last letter, too._

_Varric_

_***_

_Varric,_

_Is she even reading them before she feeds them to the wildlife?_

_Commander Cullen_

_***_

_Curly,_

_Can’t say. Mainly because she’s giving me death glares as I write, and I’m afraid of what will happen to me if I do say._

_Varric_

_***_

_Catalina,_

_You are being childish, no better than Sera. Stop it._

_Commander Cullen_

_***_

_Curly,_

_The varghest didn’t eat that last one. Apparently, it spontaneously combusted. Firefly blames the sulphur pits. Says it makes things, like rude letters from former templars, highly combustible._

_Varric_

_***_

_Cat,_

_I give up._

_Cullen_

_***_

_Commander Rutherford,_

_The Wardens are gathering at Adamant Fortress for a blood magic ritual that will summon the demon army I spoke of. Further details are included in the official report. Prepare to march. We must stop them at all costs._

_Inquisitor Trevelyan_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter I've written so far. It's just so fun.


	55. Repercussions and Romance

“Find a way over the sulfur pits. Find where the darkspawn are coming from and cave their fucking heads in. Anything else?”

Rylen glanced at his Inquisitor, currently sprawled upside down over a chair in his office, the ends of her braid dragging through the sand that covered the floor. “We need to kill those varghests, too. By the water supply. But that doesn’t have to go in your letter.”

“I can do that tonight, or tomorrow first thing,” Liviana replied. “Last scout report said Cullen should be here with the army mid-morning, so that will give me enough time to head to the river and deal with the beasts and be back by the time everyone else arrives.”

With a loud groan, Hawke stumbled through the door, left ajar to catch any hint of the evening breeze. “My face hurts,” the man declared as he sunk into the other chair. “My skin hurts. I think even the inside of my nose is sunburned. Can you check?”

“I am not looking up your nose, Hawke,” Liviana rolled her eyes. “Have you been using the salve Max sent?”

“Yes. Fenris complains it makes the bed greasy though,” Hawke grimaced. “Which, he’s right. It’s messy.”

“He will live. And I never heard either of you complain about your messes before,” she smirked.

“Different kind of mess,” Hawke grumbled as Rylen chuckled.

“Inquisitor, Captain,” a soldier appeared at the door, saluting them both. “The advance guard is approaching the gate.”

“Advance guard?” Liviana asked.

“Yes, Inquisitor. The Commander and a few others, my lady. The Iron Bull, Warden Blackwall, and Seeker Pentaghast are also with him.”

“Oh, balls,” Liviana swung herself upright with eyes as wide as saucers.

With a wide grin, Rylen gleefully clapped his hands together. “Well, what are you waiting for Inquisitor? You’d best get going so you can greet your Commander.”

“This is your fortress,” she mumbled from behind her hands. “I would not dare take that honor from you.”

“But as the highest ranking person here, you should be the one down there.” Rising, he grabbed ahold of her arm. “Hawke, if you wouldn’t mind-”

“Of course not,” Hawke sniggered, taking her other arm.

“Hey! Let me go!” Her legs flailed in the air as she twisted and wriggled like an eel, trying desperately to escape their firm grip. “I hate you both. I’m the Inquisitor. Doesn’t that mean anything to either of you?”

“Not really.”

“No.”

“I thought you were scared of me, Rylen,” she pouted.

“I am,” the man replied cheerfully. “But I also know you’re fond of me, and would never really hurt me. Permanently, that is. And I’m not scared of Sera. I can dish out as well as she gives, I’d reckon.”

“Bloody void,” Liviana gave up struggling and hung limply from their hands, ignoring the wide eyed glances of the troops as the Captain and Champion frogmarched her to the front gates.

“Didn’t want to come?” Varric called from where he perched off to the side of the courtyard, the Iron Bull behind him and cackling. Solas was nowhere to be found, as per the elf’s usual, preferring his solitude.

“Nope,” Hawke grinned. “But I’m sure the Commander is most eager to see her again. What did you have Sera do to him anyways?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, rubbing their fingerprints from her arms as the men released her. “I told her she had free reign, just to not destroy anything. Something about bees and cake, I think.”

“Commander approaching!”

Heaving one last sigh, Liviana straightened her spine as two soldiers pulled the gate open, the rest of the men and women lining the walls and yard in perfect formation, one fist held over their hearts. She summoned up her best regal voice, and coolly nodded as Cullen rode into Griffon Wing Keep, hardly noticing the others. Maker, he was handsome, radiating power and confidence as he sat in full armor atop his massive strider. Throat suddenly dry, Liviana croaked the formal words of greeting. “Commander, welcome to the Western Approach. How was your journey?”

“Well, thank you Inquisitor,” Cullen swung his legs down from his mount and handed his reins to a recruit nearby. His fist banged against his chest in formal salute as he approached her. “How are things here?”

“A-As ready as we’ll ever be,” her voice stammered a bit as her eyes locked with his, and she caught the glint within his amber depths. Oh, she was in trouble. “Ah, Captain Rylen will show you around and get you settled in your quarters. I’m sure everyone would like to take a few minutes to refresh themselves before we get started on the plans for the siege.”

“Your kindness does you credit, Your Worship.” _Oh kaffas, he is mad at me if he’s calling me that_. “I look forward to the briefing.”

“Yes, well,” she squeaked. “Max! You’re here too!” _Save me_ , she begged mentally.

Grinning like a madman, Max slid off his own horse and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Good to see you sister, dear. You’ll have to fill me in on everything you’ve been doing out here.”

“Uh, sure. Let’s go talk. Over here. Way over here,” she tugged on his hand.

“I’ll see you in a half a bell, Inquisitor,” Cullen’s voice called out over the courtyard. “I will not be late.”

“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he,” Liviana muttered to her brother as she dragged him back into the keep.

“You should have seen how mad he was when he got the report of that dragon. Everyone heard him yelling for an hour straight,” Max laughed. "And then he set about destroyed a training dummy in the courtyard until Sister Leliana scolded him for losing his temper."

“Oh. I thought he was mad about Sera’s pranks,” she frowned.

“Eh, he was miffed about that, but he was more worried about you than anything,” Max giggled. “It’s adorable.”

“It is not,” she shoved him into a section of wall.

“Is too. And his face when we passed the caravan carrying the dragon’s skull back to Skyhold. He turned as white as sheet when he saw the sheer size of the thing. And its teeth! I thought he was going to fall off his horse.”

“Of all the rotten-” Groaning, Liviana sank down to sit against the ramparts, her legs dangling off the edge. “Forget getting eaten by a dragon. It’s Cullen I’m worried about. He is going to kill me.”

“Nah,” Max sat next to her. “He’s going to fuss, sure, maybe yell, but he cares about you too much to kill you. Maker’s balls, there really is nothing out here. Look! It’s just sand and rock as far as the eye can see. And this sun. I feel bad for all our friends with more Southern heritage. They're going to fry like an egg.”

“It’s why we try to stay indoors during midday, and are most active early mornings and evenings. Since most of our men are from Ferelden and eastern Orlais,” she agreed. _Cullen cares about me? Well, of course he does, we’re friends. But he cares… too much? What does that mean?_ “There’s more than sand and rock though. There’s also phoenixes, and darkspawn, and dust, and demons. It’s a lovely place.”

Max just snorted. “Right. So show me where my room is, I need to at least wipe down a bit. I am covered in salt encrusted sand and I feel disgusting.”

“Ugh,” stepping away from him, Liviana motioned him back into the keep. “You look disgusting, too.”

“Why did I miss you again?”

Laughing, she led him down the stairs, down into a long open room in the lower levels that was lined with simple cots stacked three high. Other mages and soldiers milled around, stowing their belongings as they chatted with one another. “Sparse accommodations, I know. This place was built for an army and there’s precious little personal space. I’m sharing a room with Rylen, and everyone else is bunking together as well.”

“As long as it’s clean, I don’t care. Wait. There’s sand on this cot too. I hate this place,” Max groaned. “Fine, it’s fine, I’ll be fine. Don’t you have a meeting to attend with your Commander?”

“I’m going,” Liviana grumbled. “See you in a bit.”

A soft chuckle left his throat as he began to unpack his bag, digging around for the towel somewhere at the bottom. Across the aisle, he spied Cassandra, drying off her wet hair. She already had rinsed the grime and dust of the trip off. 

“Not going to join them?” he asked.

“No,” Cassandra stood back up and began to comb through her hair. “I am not needed yet. I am a better soldier than a strategist. There is a reason Cullen is the Commander, and not I.”

“I doubt that,” Max replied. “You always do well out in the field.”

“That is with just a few men,” she frowned. “This will be an all out assault. I will not lie, I am troubled. Your sister will not have an easy time of convincing the Wardens to abandon their foolish ritual.”

“As long as you’re by her side, I think she’ll be fine,” a soft smile tugged at his mouth.

“I- Well-” Blushing, Cassandra glanced back down. “I will do my best.”

“I know you will.”

Upstairs, Liviana slowly pushed open the door to the room that she and Rylen had designated as the war room, most of the cramped space taken up by a table with a blueprint of Adamant weighted down upon the surface. Books and manuals on siege tactics and trebuchet schematics and dozens of sheets of calculations covered every other shelf available. Expecting to see Rylen as well as the other senior officers already inside, Liviana blanched as her eyes landed on the only person within- Cullen.

“There you are,” he replied mildly as he spotted her. One eyebrow quirked up, noticing her hesitance to enter. “I told you I would not be late, and yet you still were.”

“There aren’t any bells here,” she offered as her excuse, paltry though she knew it to be. “It’s hard to keep track of time.”

“I’m sure,” he nodded, his stance shifting to parade rest, hands loosely clasped behind his back. “Now, Inquisitor, I-”

“I’m sorry,” Liviana blurted out. “For whatever Sera did. And the dragon. And baiting the dragon. And killing- Well, I’m not sorry I killed it. But for the rest, I am.”

“Are you sorry about Rilla too?” Cullen eyed her with a curious expression.

“I- No,” she shook her head, sheepishly peeking up at him. “Having Rilla in your office meant you ate regularly. And besides, she likes her job.”

“She is very enthusiastic,” Cullen replied dryly. “And pushy, for being such a tiny person. Rather like someone else I know.” Liviana blushed. Shuffling through the papers in his hand, he heaved a sigh and set them down. “Sera did not do too much damage. Merely rearranged my books and slipped a sliver of wood under my desk, so it wobbled. She also left me a slice of cake on my desk, saying I looked hungry. Needless to say, I did not eat it.”

“Probably for the best,” she nodded.

“The dragon, on the other hand…”

“The Iron Bull was with me. And Solas and Varric,” she hurriedly added. “I was well protected. And it was possible, had we left the dragon alone, it would have posed a threat to our people and any travelers on the road. It was for the betterment of everyone, really.”

“I’m sure." Shaking his head, Cullen lifted one hand to rub the back of his neck, grimacing a bit as he pulled away from the sweat and sand covered skin. “Just… be careful. Please. I was worried sick. If something happened to you, I...” That glint he had spotted earlier in his eyes melted into something infinitely more gentle, soft and warm. “Just please. I cannot- That is to say- _We_ cannot lose you.”

 _Oh. The mark, he means. Of course he means the mark. What else would he be talking about?_ “Of course, Commander,” she nodded, the butterflies in her stomach fading. “Um. I still need to take out a few varghests near the river tonight, but it shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours. I’ll take a small squad and be back before midnight. Or I can wait until tomorrow morning.”

“Tonight would be better,” he nodded, his gaze returning to normal. “I would prefer to leave tomorrow morning open for finalizing all the plans and debriefing all the officials.”

“I daresay you’ve had everything finalized for weeks now,” she smiled as she headed to the door.

“I’ve made a few adjustments here and there, but yes, mostly,” Cullen admitted with a rueful smirk. “Be careful out there, Cat.”

“I’m always careful.” The snort that followed her back out into the sun told her he did not believe her for one second.

Returning to the little room she shared with Rylen to grab the rest of her weapons, Liviana frowned as she spotted Cullen’s lion helm resting on the little table next to the bed. _Cullen is staying in here? Why is- Where is- It doesn’t matter. This is fine. I’ve slept with- next to Cullen before. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. It’ll be like sleeping in the same room with Rylen, except Cullen doesn’t snore. And he smells better. Oh Maker._

Shoving thoughts of how his skin felt against her body, Liviana went in search of the others. “Cassandra? Where are you- oh there you are,” she spotted the Seeker seated in a shaded corner. “Good book?”

The pages slammed shut with a thud as Cassandra leapt up from the ground. “Book? What book?”

“The… one you were reading?” Liviana raised an eyebrow. “Or am I imagining things?”

“Oh, this book,” the Seeker nervously shifted from foot to foot. “Yes, it is… adequate.”

Standing up on her tiptoes, Liviana managed to squint and read the title embossed along the spine despite the other woman’s best attempts to hide it. “Swords and Shields. Isn’t that one of Varric’s? Isabela was reading it, I remember.” She gasped with glee. “Seeker, are you reading smut?”

“I… yes,” Cassandra’s shoulders slumped. “It is terrible, and wonderful. I should not be reading them but- but I love them.”

“Why shouldn’t you be reading them?”

“Because I am a Seeker, and this is not in any way suitable literature for one in my position,” she muttered. “Please do not tell anyone this about me. Especially Varric.”

“If you like,” Liviana shrugged. “So what’s it about anyways?”

With surprising eagerness, Cassandra launched into the sweeping tale of the beautiful Knight-Captain and the handsome Guardsman, practically swooning as she described the epic romance filled with flowery poetry and dashing displays of affection.

“And you like that sort of thing? Being read poetry by candlelight and someone on their knees professing their everlasting love to you?” Liviana asked dubiously.

“Yes,” Cassandra glanced down at her hands, flushing red with… _Not embarrassment. Is she ashamed?_ “I know I do not come across as a person who would enjoy such things. But I do. I want the softness, the romance, the flowers and candlelight. I want to be swept off my feet, to be seen as the woman I am underneath the warrior.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Cassandra,” Liviana squeezed her arm. “You should have all that, if that is what you want.”

“I… Thank you,” the normally brusque woman smiled. “And what of you? What do you want?”

“Me?” Resting her elbows on the balcony, Liviana stared out over the vast expanse of sand, watching as the distant horizon shimmered in the sunlight. What did she want? “Nothing too public, I think. I don’t particularly like being the center of attention. I’m not really sure. I’ve never thought about things such as romance, or love. I mean, who would ever want me anyways?”

“Any person with sense and decent eyesight,” Cassandra scoffed. “You are a wonderful person, Liviana. And I am honored to follow you.”

“All of my friends have death wishes it seems,” Liviana chuckled. “I’m glad you’re here though, Cassandra. I don’t know if I would have made it this far without your help.”

“You give yourself far too little credit. All of this,” she waved to the bustling fortress behind them, “Is your doing after all.”

“I had help.”

“We all do. No one stands alone.”

“Except Corypheus.”

“And that is why he will fall. To you. To us.”

Liviana nodded slowly. “That he will. Oh! We need to get going soon, I don't want to be out too late tonight. Everyone needs a good night's sleep before tomorrow. Can you find Sera? And Blackwall. I’m going to round up a small squadron, we need to take care of those varghests so we can have enough water for everyone when they arrive.”

“Of course. I will meet you at the gate,” Cassandra replied.

As Liviana hurried off to find Rylen, she turned over Cassandra’s words in her mind. _I want a man that will sweep me off my feet._ Most of the romance books she had read were of the same vein. Fighting duels for the honor of the object of their affection, proposing in the middle of a crowded market square. Flowers and jewels and silks, showered over their lover. That was normal, wasn’t it? To want to swoon in the presence of your love, to feel like you were head over heels, to have thoughts of them consume your every waking thought, to pine after them in their absence. She had never felt anything remotely like that. _Maybe love isn’t for me then. Maybe my friends is all I will ever have. It’s not so bad though, is it? My friends are more than enough. And I am content. I wonder if Max is really serious about liking Cassandra. I wonder if he would be the type of man Cassandra wants. I can’t see him reading poetry, without giggling like an ass at least. Maybe I’ll talk to him later._

_First things first though. Kill the varghests today. And then tomorrow, Adamant._

_Maker be with us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this Friday will be the end of the last daily update, and we're going back to 3x a week starting next Monday. It was fun while it lasted.


	56. The Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW- descriptions of a panic attack towards the end of the chapter

_Fire. Ash. Brimstone and sulfur, terrors and shades and rage and pride. Dark stone walls surround everything, nothing but the night sky and demons for leagues. This is not Ath Velanis. There is no Volesus here. And Livius Erimond will pay for what he’s done._

Yanking her sword from the pride demon at her feet, Liviana glanced around the battlements, her face stained with soot and blood. “Which way did Clarel and Erimond go?”

“That way,” Cassandra pointed ahead.

“Alright. I’m going after her. Sera, come with me and give me cover fire. The rest of you, keep driving the demons back and keep away from that bloody dragon. Give the Wardens a chance to surrender, if they will. Even if they don’t deserve it,” she muttered under her breath. “Move!”

Slicing through the demons as they ran, Liviana and Sera sped down the ancient, crumbling walkways, the elf providing a steady stream of color curses as she felt it necessary. _A little levity in the face of death is good._ Max had said that, year ago in Kirkwall. _Maker, I hope he’s okay._ At least her brother was not in the midst of all this chaos. At the lead healer, he had, reluctantly, remained back at the main camp, coordinating efforts with the rest of the army.

“Friggin’ balls shite dirt flea lickin’ mother druffalo FUCKER!” Sera screeched as the dragon slammed into the railing, spewing blazing fire that just narrowly missed them both. 

“Are you alright?” Liviana shouted back.

“No thanks to this giant lizard,” Sera yelled, releasing an arrow that bounced harmlessly off its thick scales. “Ugh, wasted one.”

“I see them! Just up ahead! Hawke? What are you doing here?” She glowered as the Champion and Warden Stroud along with the altus came barreling out of the opposite door, all of them panting from the exertion.

“Wanted to cut them off, just in case they went down this way,” Hawke gasped. “Looks like she has him cornered though.”

Eyeing Dorian warily, Liviana nodded. “Let’s go.”

She wasn’t sure what happened next. One moment, Clarel had Erimond pinned the ground, trapped, defeated. And the next-

She was falling.

Scrambling to her feet, Liviana tried to race to safety as the walkway disintegrated under Clarel’s last spell and the force of the dragon’s claws, before cursing and doubling back to haul Stroud back up. It was a fatal mistake. She was falling. Was this how she really died? After everything? _Max is going to be so mad at me._

A pale face appeared next to her, his straw hat fluttering wildly in the wind. “I’ve got you,” the demon spirit thing grabbed ahold of her wrist.

It wasn’t enough. Hurtling down into the vast chasm beneath them, Liviana sucked in a sharp breath, too stunned to even scream. The anchor on her hand flared to life. 

And the world turned green.

“I’m dead. I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead-”

“I swear to the Maker, if Hawke is in my afterlife, I’m going to be extremely pissed.”

“Liv? You’re here? Oh thank the- why are you upside down?”

“I’m not upside down, you’re upside down. Kaffas, I think I broke something.” Hissing between her teeth, Liviana pushed herself upright, gently probing around her swollen ankle.

“I can heal that for you, if you’d like.” Liviana jerked back at the voice. Dorian offered her a tiny smile. “I’m not a particularly good healer, but I do know the very basics.”

“I don’t need-”

“Liv,” Hawke barked. “Let him heal you. Or have you not figured out where we are yet?”

“Where-” Her jaw dropped open. They weren’t in the Western Approach anymore. There was no more midnight sky, no more fortress, no campfires of the Inquisition in the distance. Instead, there were floating rocks, a sky tinged with green, and in the distance- _No. I can’t be here again. I can’t I can’t-_

“The Fade,” Dorian murmured, his own eyes wide. “This is… I would say impossible, but we are here, so…”

“What?” Sera yelped. “We can’t be- You did this, you and your creepy magic-”

“I assure you, I had nothing to do with this,” Dorian snapped. “Even the magisters who did enter the Fade a millennia ago required massive amounts of lyrium and blood. This is far beyond the power of any one mage.”

“No!” Cole’s scream broke through. “This is wrong, I can’t be here, this isn’t right, I don’t belong here anymore! He’ll get me, he’ll take me back, I can’t, I can’t-” The spirit dissolved into tiny whimpers, collapsing to the ground and curling in upon himself. “Green, screaming, terror, fueling the Nightmare-”

“The anchor,” Liviana stared at her hand. “I did this. I brought us here.”

“And you saved our life by it,” Stroud knelt beside her, taking her hand in his. “But we’re not safe yet, my lady. We need to keep going, and we need you to be strong.”

 _I can’t be strong, not here, not in this place!_ Jerking her head around, her gaze landed on Cole and Sera, both of them trembling, their eyes darting into every corner, the latter jumping at every little sensation and cursing. _I have to be strong. Two of us are already freaking out. It would do no good if I broke down as well_. “...Can we get out of here?”

“Could go that way,” Hawke pointed towards what looked like a version of the Breach far off in the distance. “We came in through a rift. Makes sense we could leave by a rift too.”

“The main one in the courtyard,” Liviana remembered. “That must be what that is.”

“Looks like a long walk,” her friend pointedly stared at her ankle.

Magic. From the Tevinter. But she needed to be able to walk, to fight. Who knew what laid in wait for them. She had to be strong. “...Fine.”

“Thank you,” Dorian sighed as he sank down to his knees. “This will only take a moment.”

 _He’s… thanking me? For letting him heal me?_ Liviana studied him in baffled confusion as he worked. She had avoided the mage as much as she was able these last few months. The altus seemed content enough to remain in Skyhold, working on his research and aiding the other mages as needed, and she was content to leave him there. Far away from her. But now, here he was, asking to help her, thanking her after everything-

She didn’t understand it.

Flexing her ankle as soon as he stood up, Liviana let Hawke pull her to her feet and tentatively put weight on the leg. “Thank you,” she nodded. 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Dorian nodded brusquely. “Shall we, then?”

The altus gently drew the panicking spirit to his side, murmuring soothing words under his breath as they walked, while Liviana kept close to Sera. Her bowstring was drawn taut, an arrow notched and at the ready, eyes wide and mouth grim. Liviana had never seen the elf so distraught before. Then again, she was on edge as well. They all were. They were in the fucking Fade, of all places. A place where no physical being had walked since Corypheus and his cronies tainted the Golden City to black and created the first darkspawn, or so the Chantry said. Until her. Until them.

“There’s something up ahead,” Stroud held up a hand as they climbed a set of stairs. “It’s.. Divine Justinia?”

“Vishante kaffas,” Liviana breathed.

Dorian snorted at her words. “Cursing in Tevene in front of the deceased Divine. So irreverent. I knew I liked you.”

Liviana shot the mage a glare. “I suppose you think we should talk to it, too?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“It could be a demon, Pavus.”

“Only one way to find out. Some spirits are helpful, Inquisitor,” Dorian tilted his chin down to Cole, who had his face burrowed into the mage’s robes. 

“Ugh,” Liviana sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

***

She remembered. The Conclave, the Divine, Corypheus, the Fade. She remembered it all. Andraste hadn’t sent her. There was her proof. In her explorations of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Liviana had gotten lost in the many tunnels that ran through the mountain. She had heard a scream, and rushed towards the sound, intending to help. Corypheus and the Wardens had held the Divine prisoner, calling her a ‘sacrifice’. Liviana’s interruption had given the Divine just a split second to react, but the blink of an eye was all she had needed.

Knocking the orb from Corypheus’ hand, Liviana had instinctively lunged for it… And sealed her fate. It was nothing more than an accident.

“Are you alright, Liv?” She felt Hawke’s touch on her shoulder.

“I,” she inhaled, and released the breath of stale air. “Yes. It was what I knew anyways. I’m not Andraste’s Herald. I was just a mistake.”

“A mistake who’s saved hundreds of lives so far,” Hawke replied firmly. “And a mistake who’s going to save Thedas from the folly of the Grey Wardens. What were they thinking, anyways? Idiots, all of them.”

“They were scared,” Stroud bristled and cut in. “Terrified that the Calling would leave Thedas defenseless against another Blight.”

“Are you seriously defending them for what they’ve done?” Hawke gaped at the Warden. “For blindly following a darkspawn magister and enslaving their own to create demons?”

“He can control Wardens! Via the Blight! It’s not entirely their fault, if you hadn’t-”

“Enough!” Liviana shouted, startling both men into silence. “Enough! This is not the time for this. Once we get out of here, you can blame each other all you want. But until then-” _Be strong. Be strong_. “-Until then, we need to focus.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Stroud nodded immediately. “My apologies, my lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” Liviana grumbled, stomping off down the path. “I have a name, you know.”

“Yes, Inq- Lady Trevelyan.”

Hawke snickered as Liviana groaned. “Oh, for-”

“What is that?!”

Sera’s shriek stopped them dead in their tracks. Shadows ambled down, swirling over each other, coalescing into-

“Cullen?” Liviana breathed. No, it couldn’t be him. He was safe, back in the real world, not- not one of the red templars, jagged spikes growing out of his tattered body. She had just seen him a few hours ago, could still hear his gentle breathing lulling her to sleep in the little room they had shared last night, could still smell the scent of his skin and pomade and hear his snort of laughter as she teased him the morning after.

But it was him. Several of him, actually. And a tall form in dagged Tevinter robes, stained with blood and lyrium, his eyes glowing crimson- “Max.”

“It’s not him,” Dorian gave her a little shake. “These are fearlings. They take on the form of whatever we fear the most.”

“Spiders!” Hawke yelped. “Fuck fuck fuck-”

“I’d have taken spiders,” Sera shouted as she released arrow after arrow at the demons. “I don’t see anything at all! Just nothing!”

The silent forms of Cullen as a red templar and Maxwell as a Venatori lumbered towards her, their claws bared and raised, sharp teeth exposed as they released an ear-piercing scream that made her want to bash her head into the rocks. _Not them. Not real! Not them. Not real!_ Keeping her focus down below their necks, Liviana blocked out the sight of their faces and fought back as viciously as she ever had.

She made eye contact with the last one. Crimson eyes. Not amber. Veins of fire and red lining its fair skin. _This isn’t Cullen. He would never have fallen to the red templars. Had he been in Therinfal, he would have fought his superiors tooth and nail, he would have, he would. This is not Cullen_. With a stifled sob, she shoved her blade through its neck, trembling as she watched it fall to the ground. _Not Cullen. Not Max_. The bodies of her brother and friend melted away into the corpse of a demon, spiny and clawed, not anywhere close to human. _Not them. Not real._

“I hate this place,” Sera muttered. “Gotta get out. Can’t fight against nothing, nothing works ‘gainst nothing!”

“They’re dead, Sera,” Hawke soothed. “It’s alright now.”

“Is not!” The elf shouted. “Nothin’s right. It’s all wrong.”

“Wrong,” Cole echoed. “Wrong, wrong-”

“Fenhedis,” Dorian groaned. “We should keep moving.”

“We’re getting close now,” Liviana gripped her hand in an attempt to keep her panic under control. _Dammit, why won’t I stop shaking?_

“See? Quizzy’s freakin’ too!”

“I am not,” Liviana thrust her hand behind her back and snapped. “I’m fine! Let’s go.” _Be strong. Can’t fall apart. Not yet. Not yet._

Her boots stomped through the odd water that covered this section of the Fade, her mind swirling in chaos, barely noticing the creepy graveyard with the names of her and her friends engraved upon them- _dying captured and bound, of course mine said that_ \- trying to do everything to block out the memory of Cullen’s eyes, glowing red, of blood dripping from Max’s veins. So distracted was she, that she didn’t even notice the-

“Whoa,” Hawke stopped at the end of a tunnel. “Do you see…?”

It was a demon. Larger than another other demon she had ever seen, bloated with the fears and terrors of the Wardens it had been feasting on, more massive than even the high dragon she had killed. It was a- “Nightmare,” she whispered.

“Hey,” Hawke nudged her. “We got this. Stroud? Dorian?”

“Right behind you,” the Warden replied with conviction.

“Why not?” The altus sighed. “Not like I have anything better to do.” Liviana almost smiled. Almost. “Sera, are you alright?”

“Let’s just fill it with arrows already,” she growled.

“Close,” Cole’s eyes latched hungrily on the rift just behind the demon. “So close.”

“What are we waiting for, then? Let’s kill this piece of kaffas and get the fuck out,” Liviana pointed one sword at it.

“I have enough strength, left for this,” the spirit that appeared as the Divine floated ahead. “Please tell Leliana that I am sorry I failed her too.”

 _A spirit just sacrificed itself… to save us? I hate when things don’t make sense. Unless that truly was the spirit of Justinia, then…_ Shaking her head clear, Liviana summoned up her mental flame and honed her focus the edge of her blade. _Not now. Be strong. Get out._

Demons and fearlings swarmed at them from every angle, while a smaller, yet still powerful aspect of the Nightmare pelted them under a barrage of magic and talons, burning, raking, screeching as it attacked with all of its master fury. More red lyrium Cullens. More blood mage Maxwells. More spiders. It took every ounce of her self control to not curl up into a ball and just scream with terror and agony, every muscle in her body urging her to flee, anywhere. 

But she knew. There was nowhere to run to. She had to do this, had to kill these demons. For demons were all they were. And it was these demons who stood between her and reality and the two men she wanted to see most.

Jerking his bladed staff up from the demon’s back, Hawke warily glanced up. “Uhh, guys? I think the big one is waking back up?”

“Get to the rift! Now!” Liviana yelled, shoving the others towards the portal as the massive spidery demon towered above them. “Hawke! Stroud! Let’s go! Hur-”

With an earth shattering shriek, the Nightmare flung itself at the remaining trio, and planted itself on the ground. Right between them and the rift.

“Go,” Stroud hefted his shield. “I will distract it.”

“No,” Hawke swore. “This is my fault. My responsibility. The Wardens need you, Stroud.”

“Ah, my friend,” clapping him on the shoulder, Stroud gripped him tightly. “You know if I exit this place without you, your elf will kill me anyways. This is where I make my stand, to atone for the sins of my brethren. In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice!” Saluting them both, not waiting for a response, Stroud bared his sword and rushed past them with a fierce cry.

“Dammit!” Hawke yelled. “Stroud-”

“There’s no time,” Liviana gasped. “We have to go, now!”

Grabbing his wrist, Liviana yanked him forward with all of her considerable strength and pulled him towards the rift, both of them dodging the Nightmare’s spindly limbs as it screeched its fury at being denied its meal. She could just make out Stroud underneath its monstrous belly, his blade flashing in the serpentstone light, his face coated in its ichor. _Stroud…_

Shoving Hawke through the portal, she leapt through on his heels and landed on top of the man with a hiss, both of them sprawled out across the flagstones. They were through. “Maker,” she heard someone scream. “Look at that demon!”

Liviana whirled around just in time to see the many eyes of the Nightmare rushing toward the rift. The ground trembled from the force of its shriek. Flinging her arm up, she remembered the Divine’s words. Slam it close with all of your might. The rift connected with the Anchor, pulling, burning, fighting her- 

_Is that me screaming?_

And with an explosion that echoed across the desert, the fortress rattling from the power of it, the portal sealed. No more Nightmare. No more demon army. Just… death. Everywhere. Taking Rylen’s hand, she let herself be dragged to her feet and glanced at the survivors standing amidst the carnage around her. Cullen. There he was, his eyes amber and pained with tangible relief as he took her in. Alive. Whole. Untainted.

“What will happen to us now?” A few of the Wardens muttered nervously. Others cried out, “We have no senior leadership left! What will we do?”

“Blackwall,” Liviana beckoned the man over quietly. “Do you believe the Wardens can still help?”

“I do,” he nodded firmly. “We are the only ones who can stand against the darkspawn.”

“You cannot seriously allow them to stay,” Solas rushed over, his face contorted into disgust. “After everything they’ve done? All of this?”

Her shoulders sagging, Liviana’s gaze swept around the courtyard, taking in all the corpses, human, dwarf, elf, demon, all the blood and ichor that stained the stones. “But there are still darkspawn left,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “I’ve seen them, fought them. We’ve already lost a few men to the Blight sickness. I would prefer we lose no more, especially after tonight. We will keep them away from the Venatori and Corypheus, and…” _They need a leader. Who… Elissa. She’s the Ferelden Warden-Commander. Wait, no Leliana said she left, searching for a cure for the Blight. That’s why the Ferelden Wardens fell under Clarel’s command. Alistair, then. I’ll send a raven to Denerim and ask for his advice._

Suddenly aware of all the eyes on her, Liviana shook off her thoughts and stepped forward, raising her weary voice so that all could hear. “Warden Stroud was the only one who saw the truth of what was happening, and now he is dead. His life he sacrificed to stop this madness. You were used, tricked, made fools out of. You have no senior leadership, your Order is in shambles and disgraced. So I make you an offer. Come with us, stand with the Inquisition. Help make this right. And we will help you rebuild.” Her worn eyes scanned the crowd, watching as guilt and shame played across their faces, but also hope. Determination. “Will you join us?”

“Aye!” The shout went up from those assembled.

“Liv,” Hawke approached her as she stepped down.

“Not now, Hawke,” she whispered. Her rigid facade was crumbling fast, her tenuous grip on reality slipping from her fingers and she knew it. She had to get away, the people couldn’t see her like this. Their Inquisitor, their holy figure, screaming like a madwoman and trembling like a leaf. Sobbing like a child. She needed to go, to run, to- “Not now.”

Pushing past the others who milled about the courtyard, checking on their friends, bringing the injured to the healers, Liviana sprinted past the concerned voices of her friends that called out to her and down through the shattered front gate. The tears were already beginning to fall, burning a trail down her cheeks. She leapt into the saddle of the nearest horse she saw, no one daring to question their Inquisitor, and with a flick of the reins, sped off into the open desert.

Demons. Fire. Red lyrium, consuming amber and emerald eyes, blood dripping from dark stone walls, the Nightmare pulling her terrors from the depths of her mind.

Chains. Shackles. Screams echoing through the darkness. The crackle of lightning paralyzing. Red lyrium. No recognition in their glassy stares. Just rage, hate, fury, hunger-

The horse slowed as it approached the ridge and Liviana threw herself down from the saddle, not caring about the force with which her body slammed into the rock and sand. It was real, a physical pain, the cold desert air grating in her lungs, not stale, not empty, not hollow. This was not the Fade. She wasn’t trapped anymore, there were no more corporeal demons left to kill for tonight. Just the ones inside her head.

Huge, gasping sobs choked her as she bent over, vomit and blood and tears soaking the sand, her voice turning hoarse from her screams. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, her lungs constricted around her swollen throat until she was positive she would suffocate, her fingernails scrabbling over her armor. The spiders, the fearlings, they were under her armor, crawling, digging, burrowing, she needed them outoutoutout. Why couldn’t she see straight? Her vision blurred with each tremor, unsteady from how much her body shook, all the adrenaline that had been powering her suddenly melting away and leaving her with nothing. Just an endless void that threatened to consume everything she was-

Elderberry and oakmoss on the wind. A horse’s hooves beating against the sand.

“I’ve got you.”

_Cullen._

No sooner than had Cullen slid off his horse did Liviana fling herself into his waiting arms, her fingers curling painfully into his armor, desperately fighting to keep herself grounded. To him. Not the red lyrium monster Nightmare had shown her, metallic and acrid. Blonde hair and amber eyes and a faint hint of sandalwood from his shaving oil. “I- You-”

“Shh,” he stroked her hair, keeping her in his crushing embrace. As if he thought if he held her tightly enough, he could keep her together. Then again, perhaps he could. “I’ve got you, Cat.”

 _Safe_. “Don’t go,” she whispered. 

“I will never leave you,” he swore fervently, and she believed him. Cullen would always be there for her. No matter what, he would stay. “I promise. I will never leave you alone.”

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Adamant guys


	57. Back to Skyhold

“Hey, Cat. What sort of stuff would you want a man to do for you?”

“Huh?” Liviana shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare, turning around in her saddle to look at her brother. “What do you mean?”

Max helplessly gestured towards the Seeker who was riding at the front of the column, well out of ear shot. “Cassandra told me I can’t court her. That I’m only interested in the warrior I see, and not the woman she really is. I was hoping you might be able to help.”

“We were talking about that, right before the battle,” Liviana remembered. “She likes the romance books Varric writes. You could read those for some inspiration, I guess. She also mentioned she wants the whole reading poetry and flowers by candlelight thing. That’s not really your thing though, is it?”

“No,” he wiped a bit of sweat that was trickling down his temple away. The bulk of the army and equipment were still on their way back to Skyhold, with a smaller, faster complement riding with the Inquisitor and her inner circle. Fields were in full bloom now, and temperature was fairly warm here in the heartland of Orlais at the peak of summer, making for a relatively pleasant journey, if slightly hot at midday. “But I want to do it for her. She deserves what her heart desires, don’t you think?”

“I do,” Liviana nodded. Eyeing him, she considered him for a moment. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? About her?”

“I’ve never really felt anything like this before,” he fiddled with his reins, his voice quiet, pitched low so that only she could hear, and that was just barely. 

“You think it’s love?”

“Hard to tell,” Max shrugged. “I’ve felt something… similar. There was another mage, when I was about 19. But he and I…. well. It was the Circle. But with Cassandra, it’s something more than that. It’s- I don’t know how to describe it,” he sighed. “But she’s amazing. I mean, she’s beautiful, sure, and strong, but she’s also brave. Passionate, kind, driven. I can’t help but be drawn to her.”

“Have you tried telling her that?” she asked.

“I’ve tried,” a groan slipped from between his fingers. “But I just can’t find the words. And when I do compliment her, she thinks I’m teasing her, or worse, mocking her.”

“Poetry,” Liviana realized. “That’s how you can tell her. FInd a poem, or better, write one yourself.”

“Hmmm,” he turned the idea over in his mind. “Will you help me? Find a good poem, that is. Not write one. That would end in disaster I think, on both of our parts.”

Snorting, she shook her head. “Do I look like the kind of person who knows a good poem from a nug’s arse?”

“Cassandra doesn’t look the type either,” he pointed out. “Don’t most women like that sort of stuff anyways? I know all the nobility ladies do.”

“She does seem the sort though, if you think about it. You said it yourself. She’s passionate. And it makes sense for that passion to translate from the battlefield to-”

“The bedroom,” Max interjected with a cheeky smirk.

“I do not want to think about you in that regard,” Liviana wrinkled her nose. “That’s gross.”

“Noted,” he laughed. “But I get what you’re saying.”

“Maybe ask Josephine when we get back?” she suggested. “She’d probably have better ideas for you. Or you could write Mother.”

“Maker forbid,” Max stared at her as if she had lost her mind. 

“What? Mother likes romance novels and such. She’d probably be over the moon at the idea of you courting such a devout member of Nevarran nobility, anyways.” Liviana made a face at that.

“But Cassandra hates the nobility.”

“Yup.”

“I can hear Mother now,” he chuckled and raised his voice to a falsetto with a strong Antivan accent. “Of all the eligible women, you had to pick the one who refuses to wear a dress! For shame, Maxwell!”

“Hey, dresses are terrible. All that boning and the laces and-” Liviana shuddered. “Horrible, impractical creations. Can’t run or fight in them at all. There’s just so much unnecessary material.”

“Aw, but you look so pretty in them,” he grinned. “I bet Rutherford’s eyes would fall out of his head if he saw you in a dress. Hey, Commander!”

“Max!” she hissed from between her teeth.

“Hmm?” Cullen slowed his horse down to join them. “What is it?”

“My brother is being a pest, yet again,” she sighed. “Feel free to ignore him.”

“Have you ever seen Cat in a dress?” Max pressed on with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “Like, a proper noblelady’s dress?”

“I… can’t say I have,” Cullen glanced down at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in anything beside her armor, actually.”

“You have, actually. A couple of times- Max, shut up, not like that. Besides, I could say the same for you,” she retorted. “I’m of half a mind that you sleep and bathe in your plate, too.”

“Of course I do,” Cullen drawled. “What if we get attacked while I’m having a soak? Or at night? How would it look if the Commander of the Inquisition ran out to defend the keep wearing nothing but his smalls?”

“Is he joking?” Max twisted in his saddle, his wide-eyed gaze darting between the two. “I think he’s joking. I can’t tell though, because I didn’t think he knew how to joke.”

“Oh for-”

Throwing her head back, Liviana just laughed at the sour expression that crossed Cullen’s face. “It’s rare, but it has been known to happen.”

“Why do I even bother,” Cullen sighed. 

“Because it’s such fun entertainment for me,” she grinned. “You’re just lucky Hawke already left for Weisshaupt. Alas, there is only Maximus and I left to tease you now.”

“And Varric. And the Iron Bull. And Sera. And Dorian,” Cullen added dryly. “Believe me, there are no shortages on that front.”

“Well, aren’t you a lucky duck then?”

“How so,” Cullen scoffed at Maxwell, who just winked.

“Well, if we didn’t care, we wouldn’t bother with teasing you. It shows that we love and adore you ever so much, right Cat?”

Making a noise reminiscent of a cat being stepped upon, Cullen stared at the man, not even daring to glance over at Liviana. But he heard what she said next.

“Exactly.”

*** 

With arms tightly glued to her side, Liviana obediently trotted behind her ambassador, making sure to emit all the proper noises that would indicate satisfaction. Josephine was just so excited and thrilled that Liviana could not imagine doing or saying anything that would bring her mood down. Despite the fact that she was too terrified to even touch a single thing.

“So what do you think?” Josephine asked eagerly.

“It’s lovely,” Liviana hastily assured her. “It’s just… a lot of space for one person.”

“You are the Inquisitor,” the lady gently reminded her. “You should have a chamber that reflects your position.”

“It’s certainly a room fit for royalty,” Liviana agreed, bending to examine the fine gilded writing instruments on the desk with her hands tightly clasped behind her back, just in case her fingerprints leapt off her skin to smudge the brass.

“You do not like it,” Josephine sighed. “Cullen told me you wouldn’t, but I was so sure…”

“No, no, Josephine, it’s beautiful. I like it, I truly do, it’s just-” Biting her lip, Liviana tugged on her braid and gestured to the bed. “It’s a room fit for nobility, for the Inquisitor. But I was a slave for so long, and a mercenary after that. I’m just not used to this level of extravagance.”

“You lived at your parents’ estate, did you not?”

“I did. But while the Trevelyans are well off, it’s nowhere close to this. And I don’t think I ever quite got used to it there, either,” she admitted. 

“I can understand that,” tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Josephine nodded and glanced around the room. “Well, the room is yours now. So you may redecorate how you see fit. Just let me know what change you would like to make and it will be done. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you some new clothing, as well. Simple, everyday wear for when you are in residence here in Skyhold, as well as some more formal outfits, just in case.”

“Thank you, Josephine,” Liviana’s smile was genuine this time.

Smiling back, Lady Montilyet inclined her head. “Inquisitor.”

As the door clicked shut, Liviana turned back to the massive chamber and sighed. Why, the closet was bigger than her cell had been back at the ludus. _But the private washroom is nice. With a huge tub. That, I can definitely get used to._ Tossing her bag into a corner, Liviana plodded over to the opulent bed and sat down.

And immediately sunk down into the plush mattress, much farther than she had ever imagined was possible. _Oh, bollocks. It’s like being eaten alive by a herd of sheep._

***

The first pale, gray rays of sunrise streamed through the stained glass windows as Cullen walked through the great hall, his nose buried in a series of reports that needed to be reviewed by the Inquisitor. He knew it was early still, but Liviana tended to be an early riser. Slowly, he began the long ascent up to her new room, only noticing a maid who darted out a side corridor bearing a laden breakfast tray at the last minute.

“Are you taking that up to the Inquisitor?” he asked.

“Yes, Commander,” the girl bobbed a curtsy. 

“Will you see to it that she gets these as well?” _Cat’s probably exhausted from all the traveling. I don’t want to disturb her if she’s still sleeping, and my armor clanging around would definitely wake her up._

“Of course, ser,” she bobbed again. Ascending the last few steps to the top door, the maid softly knocked and pushed the door open.

Only to run back out not a minute later. “Ser! Commander! The Inquisitor isn’t in her room, ser.”

“She’s not?” Cullen frowned. “Maybe she’s out in the yard already, although I didn’t see her on the way in.”

“The bed doesn’t look like anyone slept in it at all,” the girl nervously shifted under her load.

“Her bed?” _I wonder_. Slipping past the girl, Cullen opened the door again and peeked over the banister. It was as the servant said, the room still immaculate, not a thing out of place, except for Liviana’s bags shoved against the far wall. And one closet door that was slightly ajar. Shaking his head, he pushed the side door open all the way and sighed.

“You walk so loud,” a pile of blankets grumbled from the floor.

“You can’t sleep in your closet, Cat.”

“Why not?” a voice mumbled petulantly.

“Because it’s- it’s a closet,” he replied, flabbergasted that he was even having this conversation. With his superior, no less. Who was also Liviana, but still.

“And now it’s my bedroom.”

Cullen crouched down beside her and flicked the blanket from off her head, unable to resist to urge to smile at how frizzy her hair was, loose tendrils having escaped her braid in the night to form a halo around her face. He faltered when he took in the dark circles under her eyes. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Bed’s too soft. Couldn’t sleep on it,” she tugged the cover back over her with a sharp glare. “And I’m still tired. Go away.”

“Fine,” rising to stand, he shook his head. “Your breakfast is out on the table in your actual bedroom. Along with some forms I need you to sign.”

“Later,” came the muffled hiss.

“As you wish. Just put the tray there,” Cullen told the maid, who rushed to do as she was bid. “The Inquisitor will get to it eventually, if she ever awakes.”

“Sod off!” he chuckled at Liviana’s yell.

“And that is our cue,” he grinned to the poor maid.

It was only a bell later that she awoke, the sun still rising over the distant peaks, and dropped by his office. “I signed your stupid reports,” she sauntered in and tossed a neat stack of papers onto his desk.

“You’re very gracious, Your Worship,” Cullen remarked dryly, taking the reports. “How do you like your room? Besides the bed.”

Yawning, Liviana shrugged. “It’s nice, I suppose. Rather large for one person. With so many things in it. Why does one person need so many things in their room?”

“Josephine insisted it was appropriate for your station,” he grimaced.

“Yes, she told me. Where’s your room?” Frowning as he pointed to the ceiling, Liviana latched on to the ladder she spied in the corner. “Hey!” he heard a shout from up above. “Your room is so much emptier than mine. And smaller. It’s not fair. I’d say the Commander of the Inquisition should also have a fancy room for his rank.”

“It’s close to my office,” he called back. “It’s more efficient this way.”

Her footsteps echoed off the wooden floor as she paced around. “It’s not close to your office, it’s _inside_ your office. There is a distinct difference. By the way. Did you know you have holes in your roof? And your floor?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Alright.” More footsteps, followed by a creak. “Your bed is a lot harder than mine. I think my mattress is stuffed with feathers. Who can sleep on feathers?”

“Nobles,” he replied, idly shuffling through his papers.

“Blasted nobles.” That was the last thing he heard for awhile, and before he realized it, almost a full candlemark had passed and she had not said another word.

“Cat?” No answer. Curious, Cullen set down the letter he was penning and climbed up to see what the minx was up to. He expected to find her curled up in the corner with a book, or not in his room at all, possibly having escaped through his open roof. What he didn’t expect was to find her in his bed, curled up around his pillow. A soft smile melted his face. _She looks so peaceful. Maker, she must have been exhausted_. Grabbing the blanket that he had left neatly folded at the foot of his bed, he draped the wool over her body, and impulsively pressed a featherlight kiss to her hair.

As quietly as he could manage, Cullen crept back down the ladder and got back to work.

Another hour or so went by before someone finally came looking for her. Poking his head in, Max glanced around the office. “Dammit, not here either. Hey Commander. I don’t suppose you’ve seen my sister, have you?”

“She is upstairs in my bed, drooling on my pillow I believe,” Cullen replied mildly. “You are not to disturb her, Trevelyan,” he glared at the man as he approached the ladder. “Let her sleep.”

“Tch, fine,” Max backed away. “When Her Highness awakes, can you tell her the arcanist wants to meet her? In the undercroft.”

“I will,” he nodded.

The door had just swung shut, slamming with a considerable amount of noise when Cullen heard a loud thud from above, followed by a colorful string of curses. “Are you alright?”

“Bloody fucking- Yes,” she slid down his ladder, scowling as she yanked her fingers through her braid and pulled the thong free. “I’m fine. You know, sleeping on the floor is so much safer than beds.”

Circling his desk, Cullen felt his heart stop as her loose waves spilled over her shoulders. He had never before seen her with her hair unbound. It has always remained in its usual braid, or on occasion, coiled into a bun atop her head. Shimmering like silk, he was struck with the urge to run his own fingers through the dark mass, to bury his face against and just breathe in her scent. He shook it off- and frowned as he spotted a red mark on her head, just barely covered by her hairline. “You’re injured,” he tugged on her wrist, “Let me see.”

“I said I’m fine,” Liviana testily pulled her hand back. “It’s just a small bruise.”

“I don’t know how you can survive the Fade and kill dragons, and yet injure yourself falling out of bed,” Cullen snorted and shook his head. “Still, you should have Max look at it, just in case.”

“Yes, Commander,” she muttered. “Can I go now?”

“Cat,” stooping over, he peered up into her face, noticing how she was intently staring at his desk, for some reason unwilling to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“I said, nothing Ruther-”

“Is it nightmares?”

Liviana’s mouth snapped shut. One shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. “It’s fine.”

He paused. Then, “Was I in them?” Another, more hesitant shrug was her response. Sighing, Cullen ran a hand through his hair, mulling over what he should say, how much he should tell her. _I trust her, do I not?_ “...If it helps, you are often in mine as well,” he eventually said, his voice soft and gentle.

Her gaze flicked up to his at that. “How can you bear to look at me then?” she whispered. 

“Because I know you,” he murmured, stroking her knuckles with the rough pad of his thumb. “And I know you would never act like that in reality.” _Because you would never willingly submit to the demons and join them in torturing me, because you would never try to seduce me and humiliate me, because if you were taken by the slavers again, you would fight back tooth and nail and never just accept your fate._

She absorbed his words for several minutes, seemingly fascinated by the sight of his hand covering hers. “What would have done if you hadn’t been commander here?” 

Cullen thought about it. “Stayed in Kirkwall, probably. Who knows? I might have ended up joining the Inquisition as a regular soldier.”

“You wouldn’t have gone with the Lord Seeker?” Her gaze lifted to meet his, challenging him to deny her nightmares.

“It’s hard to say,” he replied quietly. “I like to think I would not have. In all honesty, I think my faith in the Order was shaken too much at that time that I would have refused. But sometimes in my darkest moments, I wonder…”

Nodding, she returned her gaze to their hands, still joined together. “Then I would have had someone else as my commander. That sounds terrible.”

He chuckled and squeezed her fingers before dropping her hand and retreating to the safety of his desk. “It would probably have been Cassandra, for all that she didn’t want the job.”

“Cassandra is an excellent warrior,” Liviana agreed. “But she’s not you.”

His heart leapt into his throat for the second time in such a short timespan. “...Oh?”

Liviana smirked up at him. “She’s not nearly as good at chess. And she has a temper when she loses. Horrible traits in a commander, don’t you think?”

His breath fled his lungs in a rush. “Of course she’s not,” Cullen scoffed after regaining his composure. “And of course she does. When have you played her, anyways? You haven’t played with me in quite some times. Have you been cheating on me, Inquisitor?”

This time it was Liviana’s turn to choke on nothing. “W-We get bored in camp a lot. It helps to pass the time, especially because Sera and Varric both cheat at cards so badly. And, besides, you’re one to talk. I know you play with that Tevinter,” she wrinkled her nose. “The servants love to gossip about the dashing templar with the Tevinter magister, you know.”

“Ex-templar,” Cullen replied. “And Dorian cheats, too. But he’s the only one who’s ever interested in playing and free when I have a moment.”

“Well I’m back. For now, at least,” she offered hopefully. “We’re leaving for the Exalted Plains in a few days, but I have some time between all the luncheons and teas Josephine has scheduled for me with every bloody noble in this place. I could use a distraction.”

“I’d like that,” he smiled.

“Me too.”

“I’d hope so. You are the one who mentioned it,” he chuckled as a bright pink blush spread over her cheeks. 

“I was just reiterating it,” she mumbled. 

“I know.” Maker help him, he could not stop smiling. Did he dare even hope that she might care for him as he did her? That she might one day love him the same? It seemed an impossible thing, far too much to ask, but the way she was looking at him…

Perhaps there was still hope left for him.

“Later, then,” Liviana turned to go, her skin still rosy.

“I look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my kink is people doing things that are out of their element just because they want to make someone else happy (yeah go max!)
> 
> Also I suck at naming chapters


	58. New Friends and Soft Beginnings

A cough wracked his lungs, dust motes dancing all around him as the heavy tome hit the table. Furiously rubbing his nose, Max thumbed the worn cover open. “Dammit,” he sighed, flipping through the pages. “More Chantry dribble.”

“Horrible, isn’t it?” The Tevinter altus glanced up from the other end of the bookshelf. “Everything in here. Nothing really of worth as far as magical knowledge goes, but if you want to know if when and how many times Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, it’s in here somewhere.”

Max snorted as a passing Sister gave the altus an evil glare. “Talking like that will definitely endear you to the local population.”

Dorian just shrugged. “They’ve already decided my guilt, without knowing me at all. What care do I have for them?”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Max tossed the book in his hand down and pulled out another. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything useful about lyrium, have you?”

“Not particularly,” Dorian shook his head. “I might be able to ask a few colleagues back home, though, if you’d like.”

“Back in Tevinter,” Max replied flatly, casting a wary glance towards the other man.

“There won’t be any how-to manuals in there on summoning demons, I assure you,” Dorian huffed with more than a little acerbity.

“I’m sorry,” casting his eyes down, properly chagrined, Max winced. “Old prejudices die hard.”

A long sigh ruffled the edges of the book he held. “Well,” Dorian shrugged. “With your family’s personal experience towards the Imperium, I really can’t say I blame you.”

“Still. It’s no excuse for me to treat you like the enemy. After all, you are risking much to stay here and help. If you would send for any additional information on lyrium that you could find, I would be most grateful,” Max hedged a smile.

“I’d be delighted to,” Dorian inclined his chin.

“I can’t stomach any more of this.” With a groan, Max threw book after book down onto the table, each of them containing nothing that would be useful to him at all. “Fancy a drink, Pavus?”

“With me? In public? My, you do love a scandal, don’t you?” Dorian smirked. “Won’t your lovely sister be upset with you if you’re seen with me?”

“You’ve spent time with the Commander, and she hasn’t killed him yet, so I think I’ll live,” Max pointed out wryly. “Besides, it’s a drink. I’m not asking you to marry me. Yet.” He grinned as the other spluttered, for once at a loss for a witty rejoinder. “Come on.”

“So,” Doriana mused as they exited the library, more than a couple of suspicious glances cast their way. “Am I in good enough for the juicy gossip yet? What is going on between the Inquisitor and her handsome Commander, anyways?”

“They’re both oblivious,” Max rolled his eyes. “Actually, I think Cullen is a little less oblivious, but Ca- Liviana, she’s… She’s going to take a while, if she ever gets there.”

“Oh, I do hope she does. If only to make the Commander stop talking about her, at least for the span of our chess games. You should hear him ramble on about all her virtues and vices. It’s sickeningly adorable.”

“Liv does the same thing,” Max chuckled. “But she’ll deny it if you call her out on it, and then punch you, so I find it’s best to pretend like you didn’t hear anything. She hits pretty hard, for all that she’s so tiny.”

The tavern was fairly packed for how early it was in the evening. Grabbing a table towards the back corner, Max waited while Dorian retrieved the drinks from the bartender, a recalcitrant dwarf by the name of Cabot. It seemed that there as a general air of joviality that ran through the room, the soldiers torn between the high of their victory at Adamant and the pain and sorrow of losing so many in that hard-won battle. So they drank. Drank to rejoice, drank to mourn, drank to forget and to remember.

“You do like wine, yes?” Dorian slid a glass of red across the table. “Or are you like the rest of your barbaric kinsmen who prefer watery piss?”

“I like wine fine,” Max chuckled. “The ale here isn’t too bad though. I’ve definitely had worse.”

“I shudder at the thought,” Dorian grimaced. “So- Ah, it appears our handsome Commander is on the warpath. I wonder who is the unlucky soul?”

Rutherford was indeed in as foul a mood as Max had ever seen him, and that was saying something, since the two had been in the Gallows together. Brows furrowed and knitted together, a scowl pulling back his lips, face like a thundercloud, boots rattling with every stomp- Cullen was not pleased in the slightest. But none of these physical signs did a thing to dissuade the mage from teasing what was slowly becoming his favorite victim, second only to his sister. Who knew? One day he might have shaken off enough of the Circle’s conditioning to fully enjoy baiting the former templar. “Rutherford! Join us for a drink?”

He had thoroughly expected the man to say no, or even just ignore him. He definitely did not expect Cullen to pause and abruptly nod and take a seat.

“Ah,” Dorian shifted. “Wine? Ale? Something harder, I think, actually, Cabot! A glass of- you know what, better just make it an entire bottle of whiskey.”

Cullen drained the first glass that was set in front of him with no preamble or hesitation. Wiping his mouth, he nodded as Dorian poured him a second, and sighed.

“Shit day?” Max asked, sipping at his own wine.

“You could say that,” he mumbled. “Trevelyan- what do you know of Sebastian Vael?”

“Ugh,” Max’s face contorted into a moue of disgust. “He’s nice enough, I suppose. Too pretty though. Can never trust the pretty ones. Why?”

“He and your sister… they have a history, don’t they?” Cullen asked quietly, as Dorian looked on, thoroughly entertained.

“Of a sorts,” Max shrugged. “It’s complicated. Why?”

“He’s sent a letter offering Starkhaven’s alliance,” came the grumble. “And asking to visit. Specifically her, I think.”

“Maker’s balls, will that man never learn?” Max sighed and slumped in his chair. “Poor Cat.”

“Poor her?” Cullen’s head jerked up. “Why would you say that? She seemed rather pleased by the proposition.”

“She did? Huh,” Max slid one finger over the rim of his glass. “I can’t think of why. The last she saw of him, she was refusing his marriage proposal. It’s why she came to Haven with me, to get away from him and our parents.”

That struck a chord in the depths of Cullen’s memory. Had she told him this before? Frowning, he dug through his thoughts, tracing the niggling itch. It had been night, and dark in his tent, and they- _That was the night we both drank ourselves into oblivion. Did she tell me about him that night? Ugh, I’m never drinking with her again_. “So she doesn’t care for him?”

“I wouldn’t say that. They were friends, after all. But I think Vael ruined even that with his profession of love for her. Are you sure she was happy about his letter?”

Cullen lifted one shoulder and drained the rest of his glass. He had thought he had recognized that look upon her face. The dreamy, doe-eyed gaze he had seen on Mia’s face as a teenager when she had been mooning after the baker’s son. He even noticed a few of the other nobles and maids around the keep that eyed him in the same manner when they thought him unawares. It was the look of fascination and lust, of pining unrequited dreams, of- _Maker’s breath, I probably look at at Cat the same way. This is a mess._

“You should ask her,” Max went to refill his glass, but Cullen waved him away. 

“I can’t ask her about this,” Cullen muttered, glowering at a stain on the table.

“Because you’re in love with her.”

“What? No, I-” He gave up his vehement protest when his gaze snapped up and met both Max’s and Dorian’s all-knowing smirks. “It’s nothing.”

“That is a bunch of kaffas, my friend,” Dorian snorted.

“She could do worse than you,” Max added conversationally. “How much worse, I’m not sure. Maker, another templar in the family. What did I ever do to deserve such a fate?”

“It cannot be,” Cullen replied firmly.

“And why not?”

“Because, it- it just can’t.” Shoving his chair away from the table, he tossed down a few silvers and shook his head. “I need to get back to work.”

Dorian watched him slink back out into the evening with exasperation written all over his face. “Hopeless.”

He shouldn’t have drank. What was he thinking, anyways? The headache that he had been desperately trying to stave off for the past week crashed into his skull at full force, the light of the torches painful and nearly blinding. Fighting back a whimper, praying that he would make it to his office before he vomited, Cullen threw open his door and sank down into his chair.

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Oh Maker, hear my cry. Guide me through the blackest nights._

“Commander?” The door swung open, revealing a tiny elven girl with tightly curled dark hair. It had been matted the first time he had seen her, but apparently someone had taken her in hand and ensured that the girl was tended to properly, her ragged clothing replaced with warm, fitted issue. “I’ve brought your supper, ser.”

“I’m not hungry, Rilla,” he sighed at the sight of her. 

“Now you know what Quizzy said about that,” the child chided him, plopping her tray down on a side table. “So you just better eat up, and save us both the trouble, ser.”

“Maker take her and you,” Cullen grumbled. “I’m not feeling well, truly Rilla. I don’t think I can eat anything to be honest.”

“Oh,” the girl frowned. “Should I fetch Enchanter Maximus?”

“You know his name isn’t Maximus, correct?” Cullen rolled his eyes, and immediately winced at the lance of pain that shot through his head.

“Yesser. But he paid me a whole sovereign to call him that forever,” she replied eagerly. “I’ll go fetch him now.”

“Rilla, wait-”

But the girl was already gone. Groaning, Cullen pitched forward and leaned his forehead against the desk, and concentrated on his breathing in an attempt to not be sick.

It felt like hours passed before the door opened again, and brought with it a familiar spicy scent. Cool hands carded through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and in spite of the pain, he smiled.

“Here, drink.” Cradling his head, Liviana tilted him back and tipped a potion bottle into his mouth. “Come on, let’s get this armor off of you and you in bed.”

“It’s still early,” he mumbled a protest. “I need to get more work done.”

“As your superior, I order you to take an early night. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, Cullen,” she sighed. “And if you don’t rest enough, you’re going to make yourself worse.”

“But-”

“I told you I’d do whatever you needed to help you, remember? That includes kicking your arse when you’re being too stubborn,” she tugged on his gauntlet pointedly, carefully easing it off before starting on the other. “So I am going to help you remove all this plate, and then you are going to go upstairs and eat a tiny bit and then lie down. Do I make myself clear, Commander?”

“Bossy,” he muttered, but didn’t fight her as she unbuckled the rest of his armor, only objecting to her aid when she slipped down to kneel on the floor to pull his boots off. “Don’t. Cat, don’t do that.”

“I don’t mind,” she whispered as she untied his laces. “Only for you though. Now come on. Up you go.”

Knowing it was futile to argue with her, that he would have more luck telling a wall to dance, Cullen slowly lumbered up the ladder to his room and collapsed onto his bed. She was right, as usual. He was exhausted.

Liviana followed him up in a few moments, carefully carrying a bowl of broth wrapped in a makeshift sling and a hunk of crusty bread. “Can’t eat right now,” he managed to say as she perched on the edge of his bed.

“Alright. I’ll leave it here. Is there anything else you’d like for me to do?”

Forcing himself up a bit, Cullen shifted his body over just enough so that he could lay his head in her lap. “Comfy,” he smiled into her leggings.

“You’re impossible,” he heard her laugh softly. “You’re lucky I like you, Rutherford.” Immediately her fingers resumed their combing through his hair, soothing his raging migraine like nothing ever had before. This was heaven. If he could ask for one thing, just one thing for the rest of his life, it would be for this moment to never end, despite the pain he was in. She was here. And that alone made everything better.

Slowly, he drifted off to sleep to the sound of her soft humming. And he almost thought that maybe, maybe she brushed her lips against his fevered brow like he had done to her before. But if that was true, or just a figment of his imagination, he did not know.

The sky was still dark when he awoke some time later, the entirety of Skyhold quiet and still in the small hours of the night. For several moments, he was content to just lay there and gaze up through the hole in his roof at the bright starlight beyond the sky, losing himself in the beauty of it all. A rare enough indulgence for him. To his side, he saw the blankets shift.

“Cat?” he whispered.

“Mm?” Her head lifted and she blinked sleepily around the room. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” he turned over on his side. “Did you stay here all night?”

“Not all night,” she yawned. “I had some things to do before I turned in, but I came back to check on you and you pulled me into bed with you and refused to let me go.”

“Oh,” he averted his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Your bed is comfier than mine anyhow,” she snuggled back into the bed, merely a hairsbreadth away from his shoulder. His heart was fit to burst, all of his emotions welling up in his chest. If he had thought the moment from earlier was heaven, then this was beyond perfection. Her hair, loose and unbound, splayed across the pillow. Warm skin against his, her nails lightly scratching his arms, dragging through the rising gooseflesh that arose from her touch. She was perfection. “And you’re so warm.”

His chuckle was low and raspy, and Liviana stilled as the sound of it rumbled through her core. “Something wrong?”

“No,” she hid her face in the pillow. “Today was not a particularly enjoyable day. I don’t like public executions. They just seem… Wrong. Cowardly. I understand why it was necessary. I wish I could have given Erimond to the Wardens, but since the Inquisition now oversees the Wardens, it wouldn’t have made sense. And I wouldn’t have asked anyone else to do it in my stead, but…”

“You gave him a swift, clean death,” he murmured. “Which was more than he deserved.”

“Mmph. Why were you downing liquor in the tavern earlier like water, anyways? People talk, you know. Especially the soldiers. They’re worse than the old nobleladies I knew.”

“Ah,” he winced at the memory. “It was nothing. Just a bad day as well, that’s all. It’s better now.”

“Mmkay,” she smiled as he wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer. Intending to fall back asleep, Cullen found that his thoughts would not quiet until he had an answer from her. So he asked.

“So when is Vael coming?”

“Sebastian?” Liviana’s eyes opened back up and she raised an eyebrow. “He’s not. Why?”

“You were smiling when you were talking of him, I thought- Well,” he shrugged.

“I was thinking-” Could she tell him that she remembered how she felt when Sebastian held her? And that it made her remember those times Cullen had pulled her close, and how she loved his scent, the feeling of his arms around her? How she sometimes craved it during the days and nights she was away from him, wanted to just crawl into his lap and shut out the rest of the world? “-of something else. Not Sebastian, I assure you. Josephine will work out the details of the alliance, but it doesn’t necessitate a visit from or to him.”

“Oh. That is… good.”

“Cullen,” Liviana pulled back a bit. “Are you smiling? Why are you- You weren’t jealous, were you?” Her gray eyes peered up at him, a gleam and starlight lurking in the dark, cloudy depths.

“No! Why would I be jealous of that pompous, spoiled noble brat?” Cullen scoffed, doing his best to ignore her giggles. “I was just wondering if I needed to up security, that’s all.”

“Mmhmm,” Liviana teased. “Don’t worry, Ser Stick. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Especially not to a prince, of all things. Can you picture me as a princess? I mean, really.”

“You’ve done fine as our Inquisitor,” his smile returned to his face, grateful that she misunderstood the source of his ire.

“That’s because all that is asked of me so far is to kill things. I’m good at that. Being a noble is an entirely different mess that I have less than no desire to ever be a part of. Father said I did well at it, but I’m not so sure. I think he was just saying that.”

“Perhaps,” Cullen murmured. “I think you would excel at it, though. You would be brilliant at any path you set yourself upon.”

“Flatterer,” she smiled. “Now, sleep. There’s still a few hours before dawn.”

“Mm. You know people will talk. If they see you exiting my room in the morning,” he nuzzled her hair, already slipping back into the Fade.

“They’d talk no matter what,” she pressed her face to his chest. One hand came to rest upon his sternum, a finger lazily drawing little swooping circles through the golden hair that covered his skin. “It doesn’t matter. After all, my Commander told me I can’t sleep in my closet. And my bed is impossible. And Max snores. Where else am I supposed to sleep?”

Grinning fit to split his face in two, Cullen sighed happily. “You can stay here whenever you’d like, then.”

“Good. Night, Stanton.”

“I take it back. I’m throwing you out now.”

Lost in a peal of giggles, Liviana clutched his arms as he made to grab her, and pulled herself flush against his body. “Nope. You are stuck with me forever.”

“Andraste save me,” was what he said. What ran through his mind was, _if only._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I started another fic related to this one that will be just one-shots, prompt fills, drabbles, whatever I can think of that doesn't fit in the canon I've written. If you have an idea of a scene, or a different viewpoint from this story that you'd like to see, let me know!
> 
>  
> 
> [Find it here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281789/chapters/43266467)
> 
>  
> 
> First chapter is an alternate story of how they end up sharing a bed and sleeping next to each other again. I love both of these ways. I can't pick. So have them both. Thanks to Ashley Doyle for giving me the idea!


	59. Tracking the Source

Trees, taller and more ancient than anything she could have fathomed in her wildest dreams, towered high above, the canopy brushing the very sky. Dappled sunlight filtered in through the leaves, illuminating the verdant grass and moss in patches of bright light and cool shade. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the gentle crash of a river as it meandered over the pebbles in its way. Liviana inhaled a deep breath. And another.

This place was beyond lovely; she had no words to describe it. It was green, the air rich with life, the breeze cool upon her skin. Across the path, she spotted a deer, cautiously watching her and hers with its large dark eyes. “There are no undead here, right? A place this pretty can’t have any undead.”

“There aren’t any undead,” the scout, Lace Harding grinned. “But there are bandits. Deserters, more like, soldiers who turned into highwaymen. The Freemen of the Dales, or so they’ve styled themselves.”

“Bandits I can handle,” Liviana nodded.

“Patrols also spotted a few red templar and Venatori camps, I’ve marked them and the rifts we found on this map. Fairbanks’ little enclave is up this way.”

“Excellent,” she took the parchment and scanned it.

“Although… there are giants.”

“What?” Liviana’s head flew up. “Did you say giants?”

“There’s several of them, over on this side of the river,” Lace pointed to the map. “And we spotted a dragon earlier, too.”

“Cullen will kill me if we go after another dragon,” Liviana groaned.

“It was nice knowing you,” Varric chuckled from behind her.

“Ugh,” she slumped her shoulders. “Well, let’s get a move on. Solas, Blackwall! Let’s go meet this Fairbanks.”

Basking in the perfect weather, Liviana lazily guided her horse down the dirt trail, admiring the foliage as they rode. The Exalted Plains, where they had just arrived from, were pretty in their own rugged, almost desolate way, but nowhere she had traveled before even came close to the Emerald Graves.

“Nice place,” Blackwall nodded at the landscape appreciatively. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen trees this big in my life. Must be ancient.”

“It is said that a tree was planted here for each Emerald Knight that swore to defend the Dales from the humans,” Solas remarked, his eyes flicking towards a massive wolf statue, the edges worn smooth by time, that rested at the base of a tree.

“All of these trees?” Liviana asked incredulously. “There must have been hundreds, if not thousands of them. What happened to them all?”

“They died,” Solas sighed softly. “Fighting against the humans in the second Exalted March, in the Glory Age.”

“Kaffas,” she shook her head as she paused her mount under the wolf statue, bowing her head as if paying her respects. “What have the humans touched that we haven’t tainted? Between the Imperium and the Chantry, it’s a wonder that Thedas is still standing.”

“Not due to lack of effort,” Blackwall snorted.

“True,” Liviana inclined her head.

“I wonder,” Solas glanced at her as they started back on the path, “Has the anchor changed you any? Affected your personality? Your spirit, your soul?”

“The anchor?” She lifted her hand and studied the flickering mark, and shrugged. “I don’t think so. Varric? What would you say?”

“You’ve changed,” the dwarf replied. “But not because of that thing. You’ve been changing ever since I met you in Kirkwall. But in many ways, you’re still the same Firefly. A good heart, a kind soul, and a fondness for beardless dwarves, that’s you.”

“You’re terrible,” she laughed. “How have I changed?”

“You’re not as angry as you were. You smile more, too. And you don’t automatically threaten to kill mages on sight anymore,” he grinned. “Solas, if you had met her back in Kirkwall, you would have been skewered on sight.”

“I will count my blessings, then,” the elf smiled.

“I didn’t kill mages on sight back then,” Liviana grumbled. “I may have held one or two at swordpoint. That’s all.”

“See? Mellowing out. I like to think it was my doing,” Varric grinned.

“After dealing with you and Hawke so long, it was either learn to relax or give myself a heart attack with all the stress you two put me through,” she remarked, sticking her tongue out at the dwarf. “And Max. Actually, it was probably all Max. Living with him is enough to make anyone bloody mad. Is this the trail to Fairbanks’ hideout?”

Pulling out the map, Blackwall nodded. “Looks like it. Shall we?”

Fairbanks was a decent sort, Liviana decided, helping and protecting all the refugees that he could manage that were cast from their homes by the civil war that raged through Orlais from the Freemen. Chevaliers, most of them, Fairbanks told her. Highly skilled and dangerous. Liviana just smiled. 

They easily cleared out the veridium mine where the refugees were imprisoned, leading them to the other strongholds of the Freemen. It was a pretty enough day, and their opponents were easily cut down and rifts were sealed along the way, but for some reason, Liviana felt her mood deteriorating the longer they traveled. A dull ache throbbed at the base of her skull, and her temper grew short. Maker, she just wanted to stop and take a rest right now, maybe have a nap. 

“How many more of these fucking deserters are there?” she growled as she kicked the body away from her. “I’m so sick of-”

“Hold,” Solas held out his hand, heedless of how close Liviana was to chopping the appendage off. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear-” Liviana craned her neck back and pressed on the taut muscles that were contributing to her headache, the tendons corded and raw. “I should have known,” she hissed. “Red lyrium. That’s what’s been causing my headache. That fucking song. Let’s search for the source.”

Abandoning the trail of the Freemen for now, Liviana let Solas take the lead as they roamed the Emerald Graves, as the mage was infinitely more sensitive to the stuff than any of the rest of them were. “There,” he eventually pointed to a wagon and few men up ahead.

“Smugglers,” Varric flipped through the papers he found after they had dispatched the bodies. “They’re smuggling the red lyrium, thinking they’re getting one over the Carta. This is all kinds of bad.”

“We’ll sweep the entire area, see if we can find more evidence,” Liviana frowned. “I wonder who they’re selling it to? The red templars?”

The second caravan they found answered that. “Samson,” Blackwall handed her a letter. “Samson is the one buying it.”

“I can’t believe he’s doing this,” she muttered, folding the parchment neatly and stowing it in her pack. Cullen would want to see this for sure. “Let’s see if there’s more.”

“More red lyrium on these wagons,” Varric called a little while later. “And more letters.”

“Let me see,” she took the paper from him. Her jaw dropped and her swear was loud enough to make even Blackwall jump. “He- he’s _buying_ people? The people who get sick from the red lyrium. That fucking piece of _kaffas_ -” Crumpling the letter in her hand, Liviana wordlessly snarled. She couldn’t believe this. The man who had helped mages escape their fate in the Gallows was now a slaver? No, worse. The memory rushed back to her in a nauseating flood. Fiona, pinned to the wall, red lyrium growing from her body. She glanced back down at the paper. “Samson has his agents buying anyone who gets sick. To make something better of them.” _Bloody void. He can’t be doing what I think he is._

“Firefly?”

Varric’s voice jerked her back to the present and out of the future. “We need to get back to camp. I need to send a letter back to Skyhold now.”

***

Restless. Idle. Her fingers twitched as she paced the length of the room, her eyes vacantly scowling at nothing. She hated this waiting, the agonizing drudgery of paperwork and planning. There were still red templars out there, still Venatori, still demons roaming the lands and wreaking havoc on the people, enemies who needed to be taken out. Preferably by her. But she was stuck here. Trapped. Caged.

“Wearing a hole into the stone will not get us anywhere faster,” Cullen remarked as she began another circuit of the war room. She could feel the weight of Leliana’s and Josephine’s eyes upon her as well.

“I know,” Liviana grumbled. “But I want to be out there. Doing something.”

“I understand, Inquisitor. But this is just as important. In order to prevent the future you witnessed, we must-”

“Save Empress Celene and make sure Orlais is strong and united, I know,” she braced her hands against the thick oak table. “So we have our invitations now, courtesy of Gaspard. And you want me to brush up on my Orlesian and etiquette, which I can understand. But dancing?”

“It is necessary,” Leliana remarked with some sympathy. “We must play the Game in its entirety, and that includes the niceties of the nobility. You know, you remind me of Elissa right now. She hated being idle as well, and always focused better with a sword or bow in her hand. Patience was not one of her strong suits, back during the Blight.”

“I don’t think our Inquisitor knows what the word patience means,” Cullen drawled, only to receive a rude gesture in return.

“Pardon me for not being a master strategist,” she retorted. 

“This is why you are horrible at chess.”

Liviana merely stuck her tongue out at him, refusing to dignify his words with any of her own. “So lessons with Madame de Fer. Maker, this is going to be utter misery. I can clear space in my schedule in the morning, just after training with Heir.”

“How are you lessons with the assassin going, anyways?” Leliana inquired politely.

“Not too bad,” Liviana replied. “I can see why such skills are useful, although my stealth still needs some work, especially in the Fereldan and southern Orlesian terrain. I’m not used to so many trees and leaves and sticks cluttering the path.”

“Bloody assassins,” Cullen muttered to himself.

“Worried that I might sneak up to your room to kill you, Commander?” Liviana asked sweetly.

“Hardly,” he snorted. “You curse far too much every time you ascend my ladder to ever sneak up on me.”

“Yes, I have heard that you have been staying the nights with our Commander,” Leliana glanced up from her reports slyly. “Or rather, you have been seen sneaking out of his room in the mornings.”

Scoffing, Liviana merely shrugged at being found out. “My bed is uncomfortable, and Cullen says I scare the maids when I sleep on the floor. And Max snores, so I’ve been bunking with Cullen. That’s all.”

“You’re bed is not to your liking?” Josephine rung her hands together, obviously distressed, and Liviana winced. “You should have told me! I swear the merchant said it was the finest he had in stock. I do apologize, Inquisitor.”

“Oh no no,” Liviana rushed to placate the Antivan. “The bed is wonderful, and very soft. But I’m used to sleeping on… the ground, cots, hard surfaces. I’m not very good at being a noble,” she muttered sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“It is nothing you need to apologize,” Josephine relaxed. “I can have a more firm bed delivered though. That would be no issue at all.”

“Oh,” Liviana nodded, unsure as to why she wanted to refuse. “That would be lovely.” Across from her, the tiniest frown creased Cullen’s brow, unbeknownst to all except a certain spymaster who noted it with great interest and personal amusement. “Thank you, Lady Montilyet.”

“Of course,” the other woman beamed. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Is there anything else for today, then?” Liviana scanned the list of papers in front of her, shuffling through the topics they had already discussed. “Have your agents reached Denerim yet, Leliana?”

“They have,” Leliana replied. “They confirm the presence of Venatori within the palace, and are working to determine the extent of the problem. Baker hopes to strike within the next three days or so.”

“Good. I don’t want any of them getting to Alistair,” Liviana frowned. “And he said he’s coming as soon as we return from Halamshiral to deal with the Wardens, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Also,” Josephine pulled out a fancy envelope with a gold and white wax seal. “I have a request for aid from our allies in Starkhaven.”

Liviana made a face at the name of the city. “And what does Sebastian want?”

“I… should let you read for yourself,” she passed the letter over, a look of worry in her dark eyes.

Taking the thick parchment, Liviana’s eyes went from narrowed in suspicion to as large as saucers as she read what was within. “The- What- the audacity of that man! Asking us, asking me, for this?”

“What does it say?” Cullen asked.

“Prince Vael is attempting to invade Kirkwall,” she spluttered, her cheeks flushing with her rage. “To root out any supporters of Anders in an attempt to find the mage. He’s attacking innocents in some- some semblance of a noble and holy mission.”

“I fear what would happen if the Inquisition was seen as part of a conquering army,” Josephine bit her lip. “Our mission is to restore order, not to help invade.”

“But to have Starkhaven fully on our side. We could use this to our advantage, and plant our own people within his court,” Leliana added. “If we send enough men, Aveline will probably back down without any further casualties.”

“Are you serious?” Cullen stared at them both. “You can’t be serious. We should be helping the Guard-Captain, if anything. That woman is worth ten of that pompous arse, easily.”

“Cullen is right,” Liviana scowled. “Send your troops to fight with Aveline.”

“Inquisitor,” Josephine hedged. “Are you sure?”

“Very. And send Sebastian a note that says stop acting like a royal prat,” she added. 

“I, um, oh dear,” the ambassador sighed. “If… you are certain, Inquisitor.”

“You don’t have to send that last bit, Josephine,” Liviana shook her head with a wry smile. “But yes. Help Aveline. Fuck Sebastian.”

“It will be done,” Cullen openly grinned.

“Excellent,” she sighed. “Alright, well if that’s it, I have a stack of paperwork the size of the Waking Sea waiting on me and a few dozen books to look over before Vivienne gets her manicured claws into me.”

“Maker go with you,” Leliana laughed at her expression. 

“Do not forget that Monsieur Perrault will be here on the morrow, for your dance instruction,” Josephine reminded her.

Liviana just grumbled and glared up at her ambassador. “I do not want to dance. I have better things to do and Rutherford, if you don’t stop smirking at me, I will kick you.”

“I’m just glad I don’t have to learn it,” he chuckled.

“Oh, Commander,” Josephine’s smile was far too innocent. “Actually, I have arranged for you to take lessons with Monsieur Perrault as well. It was in the last memo I sent to you. Perhaps you have not read it yet?”

Liviana launched into a fit of giggles, one hand clamped over her mouth and the other over her belly as Cullen spluttered with indignation. “I- What- No-”

“It is necessary, Commander,” Leliana tried to hide her own smile, and failed. “We all must play our part.”

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “Cat, stop smirking.”

“Nope,” she grinned. “I’ll see you at _our_ lessons, Commander. I’ve got work to do.”

“I hate you. You know that, right?”

Still lost in her laughter, Liviana skipped out of the room.

The next few weeks passed surprisingly quickly. Her days were full of training, etiquette lessons with Madame de Fer, which also comprised of learning about Orlesian court history, government structure, and genealogy, of all the ridiculous things, dance instruction with Monsieur Perrault, and all of her normal duties, mainly the mountains of paperwork that Cullen seemed so fond of. 

The Commander grew more stressed, his temper increasingly shorter, as the time to leave for Halamshiral neared. Every possible scenario ran through his mind, from spies sneaking into Skyhold to steal information to the dragon returning to level the keep, and he was nearing his breaking point. Thank the Maker Rylen had been recalled from the Western Approach. Liviana was not sure he would have trusted any other with Skyhold’s defense in his absence. As far as his own dance instruction, his lessons had lasted all of twenty minutes before he declared it frivolous nonsense and stormed out, close to throttling the Orlesian dance master if the man yelled one more time at him.

“Newest reports, ser.”

Motioning his hand, Cullen took the sheaf of papers the messenger passed him and flipped through them, giving them a cursory glance.

“Anything important?”

He glanced over to where Liviana lay, sprawled across a sofa in a corner of his office, reading through her own reports. “New rifts reported in Western Orlais, near the Nahashin Marshes. There’s no large towns near them, but some small, outlying villages. Venatori activity reported in the Hissing Wastes too, but no word yet on what they’re doing out there.”

“No more desert,” she groaned and slumped into the cushions. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Don’t like the heat, don’t like the cold. You’re impossible,” Cullen muttered.

“Thedas is impossible,” Liviana grumbled in return.

“You’re just- wait.” Sucking in a sharp breath as he read the final report, Cullen shoved all of his papers to the side of his desk, exposing the map underneath. “I’ve got it,” he grinned up at her. “I’ve been tracking the smuggler caravans for some time now, and it appears that the bulk of them are coming from Sahrnia Quarry, in the Emprise du Lion. There’s also rifts reported in the area.”

“Excellent,” Liviana launched to her feet and crossed the room, looking at where Cullen pointed on the map. “I wish I could go right now. I have a suspicion of what is going on there, but I’ll need to see it first. Damn this ball and the Orlesians and their Game,” her lips curled into a sneer. “I don’t have the time to play dress-up with them. Why couldn’t Celene have just believed us? Why do we have to go there and- argh!” Shoving away from the desk, she stomped around his office and paused next to his bookshelf, running her thumb over the worn wood while she racked her brain. “Ugh. As soon as our business in Halamshiral is concluded, I’ll take a group straight to Sahrnia. That will be the soonest I could go. And with any luck, Samson will be there.”

“We can only hope,” Cullen nodded. “If he’s not, destroying his lyrium mines will be a crushing blow for him.”

Her lips twisted up into a grin. “I’ll bring Bull then. He’ll have fun with that.”

“So you and the Qunari Horde, as you so affectionately dubbed him, are getting along alright now?”

“He’s a good sort,” she shrugged. “And he likes to kill the same things I do. We have fun out in the field. Contest to see who can make the most kills, who can make the most elaborate kills. That sort of thing.”

“Fun,” Cullen repeated flatly, blinking back at her. A lock of hair fell from his immaculate style fell free of the pomade he used to brush against his forehead as he shook his head. “Fun killing- I will never understand you.”

Laughing, she reached over to ruffle his hair, much to his chagrin. “I should hope not. Now where would the fun in that be, Ser Stick?”

“You are, as Rylen so aptly puts it, a batty loon.”


	60. A Dance in Halamshiral

“You look tired.”

Cullen just shrugged. He was not about to admit that he had been sleeping worse since she returned to her room, and no longer slept next to him in his bed, her skin warm and soft against him, the gentle sound of her breathing soothing his nightmares. His pillow had lost all of her sweet scent, and it was depressing. _Damn you, Josephine._ “It is nothing.”

“Headaches?” Liviana murmured, pulling her horse up next to his.

It was as good as reason as any. Nodding, he returned his eyes to the road ahead. “I already know what you’re going to say next. Yes, I will ask Maxwell for his help the next time we stop.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Snorting, he raised an eyebrow at her. “That will be the day.”

“Well, excuse me if I worry about you,” she muttered, her hands idly plaiting her horse’s mane. “Someone has to.”

“Thanks to you, Rilla now worries over me just as much as you,” he chuckled. “She was very put out that I was leaving for an extended period of time. So I put her in charge of Rylen’s meals.”

“Rylen actually eats, though,” she pointed out. “Rilla won’t have much of a job to do.”

“It will still keep her busy and out of trouble,” Cullen shrugged. “She mentioned that you haven’t checked in with her to make sure she had done her duty, but she took it as a sign that you had complete faith in her and that she was doing well.”

“I know,” Liviana sighed. “I kept meaning to at least sit down with her to have lunch and ask her about her studies and her family, but these last few weeks were just so busy. I’ll have to make it up to her. She really did do a fantastic job.”

“She’s a good kid,” Cullen hummed his agreement. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” Liviana didn’t bother hiding her odd, surprised, yet almost longing grin as she studied him. “I didn’t realize you liked children.”

“I don’t dislike them,” he thought. “I haven’t really interacted with children since I left my family, though. Templars were encouraged to not get too close to the mages, so I kept a fair distance from the apprentices. Rilla is a good sort, though. She’s smart, listens well despite the fact she’s bloody stubborn, and she loves her siblings very much. Apparently her little brother, the six year old, worships me and wants to be a soldier when he grows up. Arith, I think his name was.”

“That is adorable,” Liviana giggled. “I do wish we were able to find homes for them now, though. A war camp is no place for children to grow up. They should have a family, stability. A home,” her voice grew soft and wistful.

“I agree. Although, the Inquisition seems to do quite well in caring for their needs, thanks to you.” Liviana had been the one to insist that they hire teachers, and full time staff that were devoted to caring for the many orphans who found their way to Skyhold, going as far as to dedicate an entire wing of rooms to the children and their caretakers despite the others’ requests that the orphanage be located down in the valley, for space purposes. No, she had been adamant. Within the walls was the safest place. If the worst occurred, she wanted the kids to have a fighting chance.

“It’s the least I could do. We’re supposed to be helping, after all. Stop smiling at me like that, it’s disturbing.”

“Apologies,” Cullen chuckled. “I find myself thinking the same as you. To see the mighty and fierce Inquisitor caring so much for the little ones. It’s a nice sentiment.” 

“Kids are great,” Sera chirped as she rode up to join them. “They’ve got the best jokes, too.”

“That is because you are of the same maturity level as them,” Cullen remarked dryly.

“Don’t pay him any mind, Sera,” Liviana chimed in. “Ser Stick wouldn’t know a good joke if it bit him on the arse.”

“I would too,” he insisted. “I am funny, and I laugh at things.”

“Alright,” Liviana thought for a moment. “What do the Carta and cunts have in common?”

“Maker’s breath, I did not-”

“One slip of the tongue, and you’re in deep shit.”

Sera howled, one hand clutching her side, the other grasping her saddle in an attempt to not fall off. “Brilliant,” she managed to gasp. “Bloody brilliant-”

“I meant good jokes,” Cullen cut in testily, coughing to hide his laugh. “Not such debase, vulgar humor.”

“I’ve got one,” Varric piped up from behind them. “What did the sign on the out of business brothel say?”

“Maker preserve me,” Cullen muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Beat it, we’re closed!”

Both Liviana and Sera dissolved into giggles at that, and even the Commander cracked a tiny smile, unable to hide it this time. “Varric! You made Curly smile!”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“I’ve got another one,” Liviana ignored him and grinned. “What’s the difference between being hungry and horny?”

“This is hardly appropriate,” Vivienne interjected this time.

“Where you stick the cucumber.”

Sera did fall off her horse with that one, Liviana cackling so hard at the elf that she pulled a muscle in her abdomen while the rest of them looked on with vary degrees of amusement. Solas hid a cough behind his hand, while Cassandra just glared at them both. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Herald of Andraste, the Maker’s Holy Bride,” Max muttered dryly. “Commander, you alright there?”

“I’m fine,” Cullen turned away to hide his flaming cheeks. Now all he could picture was Liviana, devoid of any clothing, doing… _things_ to herself and Maker’s breath, he wished it was colder out on the road today. Shifting uncomfortably in his saddle, he tried to hide the proof of his thoughts. 

“We’re burning Curly’s virginal ears,” Varric laughed. “Go easy on the man.”

“No way Cully-Wully’s never done it,” Sera gasped. “Or maybe he hasn’t. Not sure, really. Have you? I’ve got some pointers if you need them.”

“We are not talking about this,” he gritted out. “This conversation is over.”

“Quizzy, you know?”

“I do, actually,” she smirked, then sobered as Cullen swung his glare her way. “Nope, never mind, I forgot.”

“Liar,” Sera pouted.

Liviana sighed as Cullen pulled his horse ahead of the rest; she could practically hear him grinding his teeth and stewing from here. “I’m sorry,” she offered contritely as she rode to catch up with him. “I didn’t mean to make things hard for you.”

Cullen just snorted. “And here I thought you were used to making things hard for men. Me in particular.”

“Just you, I think. And Max. But it’s only because I care for you both dearly.”

“That’s rather disturbing,” he commented mildly. “Me, I can understand, but your brother?”

“Why is that-” Her eyes narrowed as the smirk on his face grew. “You are a terrible person.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, Inquisitor,” Cullen bit his lip in an attempt to not smile any wider than he already was. “Oh look, I can see the city walls from here.”

_He was flirting with me. I think. Was he? Or was he just getting back at me?_

_...Why do I like the idea of him flirting with me? Why does the sight of him biting his lip like that make me want to taste his skin?_ Her belly tightened with some unknown emotion, heat and the barest hint of electricity cascading over over her limbs. She wanted… Something to sate the ache within her. Something she couldn’t quite name. All she knew was that, for the first time in her life, she wanted a man to look at her as someone to be desired, with lust burning in his eyes. Him. Only Cullen.

Maker help her.

*** 

Resisting the urge to fidget in her new jacket and breeches, Liviana descended the stairs to where all the others waits. Sera and Solas were the only two not in the crimson and blue slashed coats the rest of them wore, instead dressed in servant uniforms, as their part involved a bit more subterfuge. The rest of the ones who would accompany her- Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, Vivienne, Varric, Cassandra, and Maxwell- all stood in the foyer, the women in a fitted version of the mens’ jackets and only Maxwell and Varric appearing pleased with the color choices.

Liviana herself was a black version of their red, the soft brocade tailored to cling to what slight curves she possessed and the Inquisition’s insignia emblazoned in crimson across her breast, her hair pulled back in an elegant, if practical, manner. She smiled at her brother as she entered the foyer- he really did look very handsome in those colors- and then forgot to breathe as her gaze landed on Cullen.

Broad shoulders filled out the snug jacket to the fullest extent, the fabric only enunciating his every physical feature. Strong jawline, high brow, proud nose, deep set topaz eyes that almost glowed with his irritation at his predicament- he looked magnificent. And deeply uncomfortable. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Josephine reprimanded him sharply as he rolled his shoulders yet again. “You are going to pop a seam, Cullen.”

“Why was this coat made so bloody small,” he scowled in response. “I can hardly move at all.”

“It is the fashion,” the Antivan sighed. “Now stop it.”

“Fashion is ridiculous. How am I supposed to fight in this?”

“Hopefully, you won’t have to,” Liviana found her voice, her throat curiously dry. “Unless everything goes tits up.”

“Which means I will be fighting tonight,” Cullen muttered, then glanced up. His eyes widened, roving over her slight figure with something almost akin to hunger in his gaze.

“See something you like?” Max grinned as he watched the pair devour each other from across the room.

“Oh, I- um,” Cullen stammered, blushing with the realization he had been caught openly ogling his Inquisitor. “You look… nice.” Behind him, Cassandra groaned.

“You do too,” Liviana murmured in reply.

“Hopeless,” Varric sighed to Leliana, who nodded her agreement. “Both of them.”

“What are you lot going on about?” Liviana rounded on the rest of them with a stern glare. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

“After you, my dear sister,” Max flourished a bow. “Lady Seeker?” He held out his arm for her to take, an offer Cassandra summarily ignored as she strode out the door to the carriages. “Damn.”

Taking his arm for herself, Liviana patted his shoulder. “Not going so well?”

“No,” he muttered. “But I have a plan now. Josephine helped me. As soon as we get back to Skyhold and get a minute to breath, I’m going to go all out. If that doesn’t work, then…” Max sighed. “We’ll see.”

“You’ll do fine. As long as we make it out of Orlais in one piece, that is.”

“I can’t wait,” he drawled, his voice laden with sarcasm. “Well, your adoring audience awaits, Your Worship,” he held the door open for her. “Let’s go save Orlais. Yay.”

***

If one more person kissed her hand, she was going to punch them, duke or not. Casting her gaze surreptitiously around the room, Liviana made for the garden doors and slipped outside, praying she could get away without being caught. Thankfully, the Maker or Andraste or whoever was watching over her apparently thought she had done enough tonight, and no one else accosted her as she escaped the ball. Cool night air washed over her flushed skin, drying the sweat that beaded along her brow and down her spine. Heaving a weary sigh, she picked a path at random and headed deeper into the gardens, wandering aimlessly down the neat gravel path.

Celene was dead. Assassinated by her own cousin, an agent of Corypheus. And Liviana had let her die. She had known that Florianne was the assassin when she entered the ballroom at the close of the night, and just stood by and watched as the Empress died on the dais in front of her court. Alone. Helpless. Liviana clenched her fists tightly together.

But it was necessary, wasn’t it? Orlais needed a strong ruler on the throne, one that understood the risks and strategies of waging war against Corpyheus and his army. Gaspard de Chalons was that ruler. A chevalier, a man who commanded the loyalty and respect of his soldiers; Celene had had her chance, and failed, spectacularly. Not to mention that the Empress had been the one to issue the order to massacre all the elves of Halamshiral just to prove her own power. So many killed, and for what? Not a damn thing save the pride of the nobility. 

They made her all sick. And now she was complicit in their treachery, cavorting with them as if she condoned their greed and filthy excess. She wanted to throw up.

Dragging her feet along, Liviana paused in a small clearing, the air heady with the scent of jasmine blossoms that wound up an open gazebo, set over an elegant stone fountain. In the center, a stone carving in the shape of a peacock spilled out a light spray of water, the shadows of the planks over head making a pattern along the rippling surface along with the bright moonlight. Sitting on the edge, she stared into the crystal depths, lost in her own mind.

“There you are,” Cullen spotted her as he rounded the corner. “Everyone is looking for you.”

“If you tell them where I am, I will consider it an offense of the highest order,” Liviana glared back at him. “Treason, in fact.”

“Have no fear,” he chuckled. “I am hiding from them as well.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do more to stop their wandering hands,” her eyes flashed with murderous intent. “I wanted to kill them all.”

“It is of no consequence,” he replied quietly. “You chased them off quite thoroughly for the moment, and I was able to have a few minutes of respite. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Just… tired,” she braced her arms against the stone fountain. “I’m ready to leave and go back home.”

“Home?” Cullen leaned against the column of the gazebo next to her. “It is like home, isn’t it? Strange to think about it, how a place we’ve only inhabited for less than a year feels so much like home now.”

“Mm,” she nodded. “No where else has ever quite felt like it. Not Tevinter, not Kirkwall, not Ostwick. But Skyhold… it feels like home. I’m not sure why.” Perhaps it was just that she felt truly comfortable there. Or maybe it was because everyone she cared about, save for a precious few, resided there within its walls. Max, Varric, Sera, Rylen, Cassandra. Cullen. Even Josephine and Leliana now, and the Iron Bull. Who would have ever thought she would have one day counted a Qunari as among her friends?

“I know how you feel. Kinloch, Kirkwall… they were home to me, but they weren’t. Not like Skyhold. You know, you were magnificent tonight.” And she truly was. He had seen a side of her that he had never imagined. Graceful, elegant, poised- they were things he knew she could be, had seen some of it before in the way she fought, but this… It was beyond his dreams. The way she had deftly maneuvered the court and its nobles, playing their blasted Game as if she had been born to it left him speechless, his brain grasping for accolades and emotions he could not voice. 

“Thank you,” she glanced up at him. “You know it wasn’t just me, though.”

“Tonight was,” he replied firmly, unwilling to even countenance a rebuttal. “You were the one who gained the court’s approval and forced them to listen and heed your words. You were the one who killed Florianne and put Gaspard on the throne. It is your name and title that will be on everyone’s lips tonight.”

“Ugh,” her mouth curled up into a moue of disgust. “I also let a woman die.”

“I would not have thought you would have cared about that,” Cullen frowned. “After all, she was hardly innocent.”

“I don’t regret her death,” Liviana murmured, trailing her hands idly in the water’s surface. “I regret the manner of her killing. To die defenseless like that, in front of a crowd as if it were a spectacle. It does not sit well with me. But I had to do it, didn’t I? Orlais will be stronger and more united with Gaspard on the throne. And that is what Thedas needs right now.”

Reaching out, Cullen covered her hand with his and gripped it tightly, his eyes studying her in silence for a moment. “Dance with me.”

“I’m sorry?” Her eyes flicked up to him, regret and sorrow melting into amusement. “Did you just ask me to dance?”

“Would it help if I asked you properly?” Grinning, he took a step back, and bent into as proper a bow as she had ever seen. “May I have this dance, Lady Catalina?”

“Didn’t you tell Monsieur Perrault that dancing was only for fools who had nothing else better to do with their lives?” she laughed. “I believe I recall those words quite clearly, for the man raged about them for a week straight.”

A smirk tugged at the scar on his upper lip as he pulled her in close and into position, his hand warm and solid against her waist. “Perhaps I am a fool,” he replied quietly, holding her gaze. Amber burned like flame, the pale moonlight dusting across his ruddy skin creating harsh shadows across his features that contrasted with the tenderness of his smile.

Her chest rattled with the pounding of her heart, and she was almost positive he could hear it. “Perhaps you are,” she whispered back breathless. “But I think I am too.”

“What a pair we make then,” he teased. “Now let me see if I remember. It’s left right turn, wait no-”

“Left right left dip turn, one two three, quick steps, no you’re moving too slow. I swear, for the way you fight, you really are horrid at this,” she laughed.

“Hush you,” he mock scowled down at her. “I am trying to concentrate.”

“Forgive me, Lord Rutherford,” she batted her dark lashes up at him. “Please, lead me as you wish.”

“I’ll lead you right into this bloody fountain, is what I’ll do,” he growled as he grabbed her about the waist and lifted her up to dangle her precariously over the water’s edge.

“Cullen!” she screeched, throwing her arms around his head and caught up in her giggles. “Don’t you dare throw me in the water!”

“What will you do if I do, Inquisitor?” his eyes sparkled with mischief, holding her firmly in his grip.

“Something! Anything! You won’t like it, that much I promise! Cullen, please!”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he winked as he set her back on the ground, her arms still encircled around his neck.

“You are terrible and I don’t like you,” she sniffed as she rested her head against his chest in direct defiance of her words, trying to ignore the rolling waves of desire that pulsed through her core. _Maker, how can a single look affect me so?_

“I’m sure,” he chuckled, hugging her a bit tighter. “I don’t like you either, you know.”

“What a pair we are then.”

“What a pair indeed.”

Her gaze drifted up as his voice melted into her. Chest still hammering away at her ribcage- or was that him?- his eyes both dark and bright and rapturous all at once, she opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“Cat,” he murmured. “Catalina.”

“Yes?” she whispered. His hand grazed her cheek, gently tracing the lines of every scar he could find.

“You are…” His voice trailed off.

Before either of them could react, Liviana yanked his head down to hers, and kissed him. Someone gasped, then moaned, but who it was, she could not be sure. All she was conscious of was how right this felt, his lips on hers, hands fisted in his golden hair, his fingers digging into her back, crushing her to his chest, how much she wanted this, wanted _him_ -

What was she doing?

This was Cullen, her best friend. They had long ago agreed to not enter into any sort of physical dalliance, hadn’t they? Deciding that their friendship was worth too much to risk such a liaison?

What in the void was she thinking?

She shoved herself back, panting. Cullen’s dark eyes were wild, roving over her face, searching, wondering, his lips swollen and glistening in the moonlight. “Cat-”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I shouldn’t- it was a mistake, I swear. I’m so sorry!”

“Cat, _wait_ -”

She didn’t want to hear it. How he would try to placate her, tell her it was alright, when it wasn’t, it wasn’t, she had ruined everything with her selfish desire. Desperately trying to stave off the tears she could feel burning in her eyes, Liviana whirled around and fled.

Leaving Cullen alone in the garden, bereft and aching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. Sort of. Hey it's a start?


	61. Someone Important

_Commander Rutherford,_

_We’ve reached the Emprise du Lion and the villagers here are suffering terribly. I’d like to get some supplies sent here for them, primarily food and some sturdy tents and warm clothing. I’ve attached a list of the numbers required._

_Michel de Chevin is here as well, tracking a demon that has barricaded itself within Suledin Keep. Preliminary reports say the keep is comprised of red templars, and what sounds like giants, but no one’s been able to get a clear visual yet. What the templars are doing with giants, I have no idea. We’re clearing out their camps as we move, and searching for the quarry. I will update when we have more information._

_Inquisitor Trevelyan_

Clear. Formal. Precise. It was everything he had ever wanted in a report, and he hated it. Even though what he wanted to do was crumple the offending parchment with its dry words, Cullen instead tucked it into its rightful stack upon his desk and sighed. He should have insisted they talk before she left. He should write to her now, pour out his heart to her in words, he should wait until she returned to tell her how he felt. Why did he not stop her that night in the gardens? For the briefest moment, he had held everything he ever wanted within his arms, and known peace. And then she had fled.

The taste of her still lingered as a phantom on his lips. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still feel her grabbing hold of him, pulling him down to her, hear that little gasp of hers against his mouth as he returned her desire tenfold. Had it been too much? Had he scared her? Or was it as she had claimed, just a mistake?

 _There is no possible way it was a mistake. To have felt so right… No. I cannot believe that. She cares for me, she must._ Either way, one thing was clear. Now that he knew what it was like to have her in his arms, he could never go back to the way things were. He needed her, like a fish depended on water to survive, the very breath in his lungs. If she turned him away now… 

A knock sounded at the door, but the person didn’t bother to wait for a response. Pushing the portal open, Max stepped inside bearing a small basket. “You look like shit,” the mage replied cheerfully.

Cullen said nothing, and kept working on his reports.

“Bad mood, got it. I tweaked the last formula a bit. Made it a bit more potent so it should take more of an edge off of your joint aches. And the headache potion is the same as last time, since you said it worked pretty well.”

“Thank you,” the Commander said softly as Max placed the basket down on the edge of his desk.

“Rutherford, are you alright? Seriously, you look like-”

“I said I’m fine,” Cullen snarled, shooting a pointed glare up at the other man. “If you’ve nothing more to say, then leave.”

“Right,” Max glowered, and changed his voice to a mimicry of his baritone. “Oh thank you Enchanter for taking several hours of your day to help me. Oh it was no problem, ser, I’m happy to help you. My pleasure, really, no no, the honor is mine.”

“Trevelyan,” Cullen sighed, thoroughly chastised. “I apologize. Thank you for the potions.”

“You’re so lucky my sister likes you,” the man shook his head. “Although what she sees in you-”

“You have no idea, I know,” Cullen muttered. “I don’t think she sees anything in me anymore, to be honest.”

“Why? What happened?”

“...Nothing.”

“Mmhmm,” Max leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, Cat was unusually flighty after the ball. I wondered if something happened between her and another noble, she was very… tense. Restless. Almost scared. But it was you, wasn’t it? What did you do to her, Rutherford?”

“I did not say what I should have,” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“You… didn’t say? Usually, people get upset when they say the wrong thing, not nothing at all,” Max frowned, and tried again. “What happened?”

“She kissed me,” dropping his quill, Cullen buried his face in his hands and groaned. “She kissed me, and then apologized and ran and I- I should have run after her, not just stood there like a slack-jawed idiot. I should have told her it wasn’t a mistake, that I love her, but I didn’t. And now I do not know what to do. Or how to fix this.”

That was the last thing Max expected Cullen to say. “Wait. Cat _kissed_ you? Did you at least kiss her back?”

“I did.”

“And then she ran off, and you didn’t run after her.”

“No.” Cullen looked more and more miserable with each successive question.

“Maferath’s balls, you’re more hopeless than me,” Max sank into a chair opposite his desk. “So, we have to figure out what you’re going to say to her when you see her next.”

“Pardon… We?” Cullen glanced up with a furrowed brow.

“We,” Max nodded. “See, I love my sister dearly. She’s my favorite person in the world, and she’s been to the void and back multiple times, so I want to see her happy. And I know she’s in love with you, even though she won’t admit it, so we’re going to fix this. And you’re going to make her happy every day for the rest of your life, or I will freeze your balls off right now, got it?”

“Er. Alright,” he cautiously nodded. “You said she loves me?”

“I swear the two of you,” Max grumbled. “Yes. She does. Doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, because I do know her fairly well, and I know she loves you. She’d probably deny it too, because she’s terrified.”

“Of me?”

“Of being hurt. Rejected,” Max replied quietly. “She thinks she’s too damaged to love, thanks to our lovely mother, and that that Vael prat was the only one who’d ever overlook her past. But she’s wrong, isn’t she?”

“She’s told me much about her past, and it has changed nothing about the way I love her,” Cullen responded firmly. “Except that she is a better person and stronger than I could ever hope to be.”

“Good answer,” Max grinned. “So what’s stopping you from just walking up to her and telling her you love her?”

“Besides the fact that she is in Orlais at the moment?” Cullen asked dryly. “I’m afraid she’ll run again. Or think I am lying. Why she would think that, I have no idea, but I still worry. Or that she truly thinks the kiss was a mistake, and she cares for me just as a friend and if I say anything, I will ruin everything we have.”

“So you’re thinking of not telling her?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I have to tell her. I must. But she’s not the only one who is scared. I’ve-” Was he really about to tell Trevelyan this? “-I’ve never had a relationship before. There have been… trysts, but nothing serious. I’ve never wanted anything more, thought I could have more. But when I see Cat, I want more. I want a life outside of war and battle. I want a home and a future with her,” he stared wistfully down at his hands. “I want to see her smile every day for the rest of my life, hear her laugh as she teases me. And more. So much more, and- and I’m not entirely sure what to do.”

“I’d say you’ve got a good idea of what to do,” Max said after Cullen finally fell silent. “Tell her what you told me. Every word of it. Just be honest and yourself, Rutherford. And… you’re not the only one who’s never had a relationship either. She hasn’t. I haven’t. Our lives haven’t exactly been conducive towards the mundane, have they?”

“No, they have not,” Cullen shook his head. “Thank you, Maxwell. Truly.”

“Like I said, I just want to see Cat happy. And you know, you’re not so bad,” Max grinned as he stood up. “For a templar.”

“Former,” Cullen couldn’t help correcting him.

“Former,” Max agreed. “Let me know how the new potion works out.”

“I will.”

The weeks passed with an aching longing, the hours dragging by like molasses in a Seheron heatwave, the days filled with endless work. Training, requisitions, reports, outfittings, patrols, war meetings. There was always something pressing that needed his attention urgently. Rilla came each day at the precise strike of the bells bearing his meals, taking up her usual spot in the corner of his office to regard him with her large, pale eyes until he ate every last morsel on his plate and she was satisfied.

“Cook made pie last night,” she chirped one day as she shouldered his door open. Crossing his office, Cullen held open the heavy portal so she could enter, and she set down his tray in the corner of his desk that he always now had cleared for her.

“That does look good,” he agreed as he sat back behind his desk. “How does it taste?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know, ser,” her eyes grew wide at the very thought. “Cook said the sweets are for the important people, like you. Not for the likes of us.”

“Is that so,” Cullen frowned, and scribbled down a note to have a talk with the cook later on. “Hmm. Well the rest of the food looks delicious, too. So tell, me. How are your studies going? Learn anything interesting?”

“We learned about sums this morning! I like the numbers,” she replied eagerly. “They make pretty good sense, although Mistress Talvin says my handwritin’s still atrocious.”

“Math is an important skill. Here,” he pulled out a blank piece of parchment and handed her a quill. “Do you know what two plus two is?”

“‘Course I do! Well, I do now,” she scratched her head sheepishly.

“Go on, then. Show me.” 

Rilla completed all the sums he called out to her as he ate, only requiring a little encouragement for the last few that were a bit more complicated in nature. Looking over her work, Cullen nodded his approval. “Is my writin’ as bad as Mistress Talvin says, ser?”

“No,” he mused. In all honesty, for a child who had only been writing a few weeks, it was surprisingly good. The ink bled through parts of the paper where she had pressed too hard, and she tore one section with the nib, but the numbers were recognizable and well-formed. “You just need more practice, pup. I’ll tell you a secret.” Lowering his voice conspiratorially, Cullen glanced around his empty office and motioned for her to lean in. “The Inquisitor’s handwriting was much worse than yours when she first started to learn.”

“No,” Rilla gasped. “But she’s a noblelady! Nobles always have fancy writin’.”

“Not her,” he chuckled at the memory of the night she had saved his life, and tried to pen a explicit letter to his past lover. “She wrote worse than chicken scratch. But she practiced, and now she has lovely handwriting. See?” He passed her one of Liviana’s most recent missives, the runes in neat, if a bit angled, lines across the page.

“Mistress Talvin’s letters are much more delicate and loopy than the Inquisitor’s,” Rilla frowned. “She said that’s how women are supposed to write, that only peasants write plain. Which, I don’t mind, since I am a peasant, but she makes it sound like a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” Cullen replied firmly. “The important thing with writing is that it is legible, no matter how fancy your script is. This is mine. Not particularly loopy, is it?”

“No, ser.”

“And I’m a peasant as well. There’s nothing wrong with not being titled.”

“You, ser? But…” Her young face scrunched up in thought. “You’re the Commander. I thought all the important people were nobles.”

“Hardly. My parents were farmers, in Honnleath. My siblings still are, and my brother is a blacksmith. Sister Nightingale isn’t a noble, for all that she was raised by one. My second, Captain Rylen, his parents are stonemasons. We all earned our respective positions by the virtue of our work.”

“Can I be someone important one day too?” Rilla asked, turning over this new information in her mind. 

“You already are someone important,” Cullen smiled. “After all, without you, I should think I would have starved by now. Who else would watch me so carefully and take such good care of me, hmm?”

“Do I really do a good job, ser?” Rilla’s eyes lit up, a wide, smile breaking across her face, showcasing the two missing teeth she currently had.

“The very best,” Cullen promised. “In fact, the food was so good, I’m quite stuffed. I don’t think I can take another bite.”

“But- the pie, ser,” the girl eyed the dessert wistfully. “You can’t waste it!”

“No, indeed,” he hummed. “That would be a travesty. Tell you what. You eat it.”

“Me? But-”

“Cook doesn’t have to know. It can be just our little secret,” he winked down at her. “After all, she did say it was for important people, didn’t she? And you are important.”

“I am,” Rilla’s bobbed up and down. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m positive,” Cullen shoved the dish and a fork across the desk. “Make sure you finish every bite. I can’t have my best helper going hungry, can I?”

Giggling, Rilla snatched up the fork and dove in with admirable gusto. A chuckle escaped his lips as he shuffled through his reports and finished the patrol roster he had been working on. 

“How was it?” He grinned as he watched her lick the fork clean of every errant crumb.

“The best ever!” she exclaimed. “Blueberry is my favorite.”

“Is it? I’m partial to huckleberry, myself,” Cullen replied. “Speaking of practicing your writing, how would you like to write a report to the Inquisitor? I think she needs an update on my progress, and yours, don’t you?”

“Me? Write a report to the Inquisitor?” Rilla’s voice rose to squeak, then dropped to a whisper, one finger running reverently over the quill he placed back in front of her. “I s’pose I could…”

“Only if you want to,” he assured her.

“No, I do want to,” she shook her head. “She won’t laugh at me?”

“I can’t ever imagine her doing such a thing,” Cullen replied truthfully. “I’m certain she’ll love it.”

“Alright.” The chair underneath her creak as she shifted her weight and straightened her spine, attempting to look every bit as important as the Commander had declared her to be. “How do I start?”

“The date, first. 16 Drakonis, 9:41. Yes, that’s right,” Cullen peered over the paper to help guide her. “Then Dear Inquisitor Trevelyan-”

“She told me to call her Liviana. Or Livvy. But I can’t do such a thing,” Rilla commented. “She’s the Inquisitor, and a great lady.”

“But because she’s the Inquisitor, you should listen to her,” Cullen pointed out with a smile. “So you should call her Liviana. Or Livvy.”

“Do you listen to her?”

“Of course. She is my superior, after all.”

“But, if you listen to her, why did she have to ask me to make sure you eat? She said she was sure you wouldn’t listen to her,” Rilla frowned.

 _Damn this perceptive child_. “Well, ah-” Cullen stammered, at a loss of how to proceed. “I try to listen. But I’m very busy, and she is… bossy.” Rilla giggled. “We’ve been friends for a very long time. So perhaps I don’t always listen to her when she tells me what to do in personal matters. But when it comes to work, I listen.”

“Okay. So Dear Inquisitor… Livvy? Now what?”

“Tell her how I’m doing,” he encouraged. “That I’m behaving and listening to her orders, and eating all of the delicious food you bring me.”

“You didn’t eat the pie today,” she pointed out.

“Then make sure you tell her that, too,” he chuckled. “Be as thorough as you can think to be.”

Nodding, Rilla got to work.

***

_He ~~ate~~ eats without complaining (most of the time). Today, I ~~braht~~ brought him pie and he did not eat it. He said he was full. So I ate it for him. That’s okay, isn’t it? He ~~eats~~ ate everything else, so I think it was okay. I hope this letter finds you well._

_~~Sinseerly~~ Sincerely, Rilla_

Liviana smiled as she reread the letter for the dozenth time over the last week, the edges worn soft and fuzzy from constant handling. She was finally on her way back to Skyhold, the red templars cleared out from the Emprise du Lion and their red lyrium mine decimated, all of their captives freed and now under guard by the Inquisition soldiers. Her worst fears had been true; Samson had been using people to grow the red, just like Fiona’s body had played host to the stuff in that terrible future. And a demon, the one Michel de Chevin had been after, had tended to their bodies like some twisted garden. Varric had thrown up when they had found out. Cassandra and Liviana almost had as well.

Max had arrived with the rest of the Inquisition's contingent as a healer, for the kidnapped townsfolk and slaves Liviana had rescued had many injuries, some of them life-threatening. A skilled mage healer was a necessity in order to guarantee their survival, and the Emprise was safe enough now, with the Inquisition residing in Suledin Keep.

Her stomach churned with anxiety the closer they got to Skyhold, despite her longing to be back within heated stone walls, and to have a long soak in her tub and finally be completely clean. Cullen was there. And the seven weeks she had been gone had done little to assuage her nerves.

Handing the reins to the nearest stable boy, Liviana greeted her advisors as she entered the keep, doing her best to not look Cullen in the eye.

“How was the journey, Inquisitor?” Josephine inquired politely.

“Uneventful, which was a nice change,” Liviana replied. “I’m looking forward to a bath though.”

“There is already one waiting on you,” Leliana smiled. “The debriefing can wait until you are rested. Tomorrow morning, if that is acceptable?”

“Very,” she nodded.

“Inquisitor-” Cullen caught her as she attempted to slip away without exchanging words with him. “Might I ask for a moment? Later this evening, after you’ve rested. It is regarding a matter of some import.”

 _Work? Or that night? Dare I ask him in front of everyone? ...Maker. I just need to get this over with. I can’t avoid him forever._ “...Of course, Commander.”

Practically running up the stairs, and away from Cullen Rutherford and all of her shame and turbulent emotions, Liviana spent as long as she could manage wallowing in her copper basin of steaming water, until her fingers grew shriveled and the water turned cold. With a heavy sigh, she climbed out and dried herself off, and dressed in a clean set of clothing. Every footstep was jarring as she walked the length of the keep to where his office lay, the rhythm of her heart beating a staccato again her ribs.

_What will he say? I can’t do this. I can’t face him. I have no choice. Maker, why did I kiss him? Why did I pull away? Why do I still want to kiss him?_

How long she stood outside his door, trying to summon the last vestiges of her courage, she had no idea. But she knew she could not prolong this anymore. The anticipation would kill her. Steeling herself, she pushed the door open.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?”

“I did. Please, come in,” Cullen set down the book he had been staring at for the last few hours. If someone were to ask him what the book was even about, he would have no answer. His entire line of thought had been narrowed to a pinprick focus on this very moment. What he would say. How she would respond. His entire future hung in the balance, in her hands. Cullen cleared his throat. “Um, I wanted to-”

“I’m sorry,” Liviana blurted out. She had been standing there, shifting from one foot to the other, and finally unable to take the silence, spoke out first. She couldn’t bear to hear his rebuke, she just couldn’t. “For kissing you, for ignoring you, for doing exactly what we agreed we wouldn’t do, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ -”

“Cat.” A single word, softly spoken, and she stilled. “Was it truly a mistake?”

“Yes,” she breathed, unable to meet his piercing gaze. “I never should have been so selfish.”

“Selfish? Cat, I…” Taking a deep breath, Cullen stepped from behind the safety of his desk and crossed the short distance between them, stopping just short of her. “Do you regret it?”

The word lay on the tip of her tongue. _Yes._ But she could not bring herself to say it. It would be a lie. No, she didn’t regret kissing him. Every moment since that night, it was all she had been able to think about. The feel of his under her hands, the scent of his skin filling her world, and she wanted more. Selfish. Damaged. But Cullen never treated her like she was flawed. Perhaps… “...No.”

The air in his lungs rushed out in a massive gust, and Cullen sagged where he stood. “Neither do I. Cat, I lo-”

A loud crash resounded through the room that had both Inquisitor and Commander reaching for their weapons, their eyes wildly searching through the dim light until Cullen recognized the intruder. “Jim,” he growled, stomping towards the now trembling man. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, ser!” The scout gasped, one hand braced against the open door. “I didn’t- Urgent news! We’ve just got this in.”

Frowning, Liviana stepped forward and took the scroll. What could have been so important to warrant this? She unfurled it.

And stillness, like an icy breath of winter, descended over her heart.

“They have Max. The Venatori. They took my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O_O
> 
> I love Max. And Rilla. <3


	62. Waking Nightmare

The Inquisitor had changed. Everyone felt the air in Skyhold shift the night she arrived back. Gone were her polite words and friendly smiles. Gone were the times she would have stopped to chat with the staff, and sparred with the soldiers, and taken tea with the nobles. The woman who stalked the keep was a stranger to all who crossed paths with her. Only Varric remembered who this person was.

Liviana, Victorem of the Imperium. Former slave and gladiator. Merciless, unyielding, a tempest from which no one could escape unscathed. This was the woman Varric Tethras had written about in the Tale of Champion, the woman who could cut down dozens of enemy soldiers without blinking, and then laugh as she bathed herself in their blood. This was a woman who demanded retribution.

Her advisors and their people searched furiously for some sign of Maxwell Trevelyan. By all accounts, he had been taken a little ways south of Suledin Keep, near the quarries. A band of red templars and a couple of Venatori had ambushed the soldiers Max traveled with, and slain them all. Max’s body was never found, only a note that read, ‘The red beckons.’

But Cullen and Leliana’s greatest challenge was not tracking down Maxwell, but trying to get Liviana to remain at Skyhold until they had a direction. 

“My scouts are hunting the trail. We should have a general area of where to search soon.”

“I cannot just sit here and be idle,” Liviana snarled. Rage, white-hot and searing, was the only emotion she felt anymore, hidden behind her icy facade. It overwhelmed the guilt- she thought she had cleared out all of Coryheus’ troops. How had she missed these? If she had been more thorough, less careless, looked harder, maybe Max wouldn’t be in danger. _My fault. This is my fault._

And that note. _The red beckons_. Her nightmare in the Fade haunted her all hours of the day and night now. Max, in the dagged robes of the Venatori, his eyes bleeding crimson, veins alight and burning- It consumed her. Time was slipping. The longer she waited, the greater the risk was that she would not find her brother whole, or alive ever again. And that was a loss she could not bear.

“There are still some rifts in Ferelden, in the outlying areas,” Cullen marked the places on the map. “You could close those while we wait.”

“I need to go after Max,” Liviana yelled, slamming her fists down on the table with such force, markers toppled over. “The last reports had them heading west. I’m going to go west after them.”

“There are the Hissing Wastes,” Josephine suggested. “We have reports of Venatori activity out there, do we not?”

“But there are still rifts near populated towns that need to be closed first,” Cullen countered.

“Not to mention that if she gets too close to the Venatori, we run the chance of spooking them and giving them time to flee if she does not know their exact location,” Leliana added.

“Do not speak of me as if I am not here,” Liviana snarled.

“Apologies, Inquisitor,” Leliana ducked her head in contrition. “If you stay within within Skyhold, we can mobilize as soon as we do have Max’s location. The outer reaches of Orlais are quite remote, and it will take longer to send a raven to those areas, and all the rifts closer to the Frostbacks have already been closed.”

She did not like this plan. To sit here and do nothing while her brother endured Maker knew what. But she knew the words of her advisors had logic. After all, that was their job, their specialty, what they had trained for their entire lives. She was just the figurehead and executioner. “Fine.” Without bothering to see if they had anything else to say, Liviana stormed from the room, the slamming door echoing throughout the airy room.

“That went well,” Leliana commented mildly. “All things considered.”

“This is not like her at all,” Cullen sighed. “I’ve never seen her so…”

“Cold? Harsh?” Sister Nightingale suggested. “She just lost her brother to the enemy. This is to be expected. But you are right. I also fear what will happen if Max is not found alive. Or worse. Her past trauma makes her unstable.”

Cullen wanted to deny it. But he knew Leliana spoke the truth. If Max died, who knew how his sister would react? Already, she was so volatile, her temper causing everyone to wake as if they were atop eggshells, flinching from her every move. People were scared of her, and that was something that could not be. 

“Then again,” Leliana continued. “She is the most powerful woman in all of Thedas now. Already, she has destroyed Corypheus’ demon army and saved Orlais. No one would dare touch her directly.”

“If she offends someone important, however,” Josephine tapped her quill against her writing board. “It could have disastrous effects.”

“I’ll post more guards around Skyhold, increase the patrols. If someone sends assassins after her, we’ll find them first,” Cullen made a note. 

“And it appears I am on damage control for the forseeable future,” the ambassador sighed. “Very well.”

“At least you’re good at it, Josie,” Leliana smiled. “Perhaps though, you could talk to her, Commander. She trusts you as much as she does Max. If she will listen to anyone, it would be you. Or perhaps Varric.”

“I will try,” Cullen nodded. With the mood she was in, he rather doubted his chances of success, but at least he would try. Gathering his notes, he headed out into the main hall and through Solas’ rotunda, barely noticing the intricate murals on the wall. He pushed the door to the bridge open, and a roar from down in the courtyard caught his attention.

Liviana was sparring. Against the Iron Bull. And Blackwall. And Cassandra. And Bull’s second, Krem. And all of them were giving it everything they had. It barely put a dent into her abilities. Making his way over the battlements to a point just above the ring, Cullen just stared in open amazement. Her blunted blades were all but impossible to pinpoint, the whirr of them audible from where he stood, the resounding crash of her swords slamming into the others echoing through the air. Her opponents were all formidable warriors on their own; Cassandra could best him in single combat on most days, and Blackwall was an impenetrable wall. And the Iron Bull was, well- a horde unto himself, his second a talented warrior also. And yet each of them were on the defensive, repelling her blows, weathering her fury-laced storm that seemed to never ebb.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, captivated by the battle below, but it was long enough that even some of the onlookers became bored and weary with the spectacle and wandered off. Krem was the first to remove himself from the fray, heaving and sweating profusely, movements pained and jerky. Blackwall was next. And Liviana was still going strong, her face a mask, not a single tic of her muscles betraying her thoughts. This must have been what she was like, before she had escaped Tevinter at the peak of her gladiatorial career. 

“Magnificent, isn’t she?” Varric paused beside him, his voice low and resigned, almost weary. “This is how she was when I first met her. I’d never seen anyone who fought like her. Hawke and I met her one night, down in Lowtown. Rivani was with us, too. Firefly took out several men without even flinching, no emotion on her face. These days, I tend to see more in her expression. Disgust, sadness, even regret. Something. But this… I’d guess this is how she used to be. Hiding who she was, reduced to nothing more than a weapon.”

“What can we do? How can we help her?” Cullen asked softly. Cassandra was tiring now, her shield raising a bit more sluggishly than before. Pummeling the Seeker to the ground, Liviana jerked her chin towards the edge and Cassandra limped out of the ring. Three more of the Chargers and two Grey Wardens took her place alongside Bull, who was still going strong.

“I don’t know,” Varric sighed. “She wouldn’t even look my way earlier. I don’t think she sees anyone right now. She’s too scared.”

Fear. That was it. Liviana was angry, yes, furious. But underneath the rage was terror, pure and simple. She was scared for her brother, and rightfully so. It was the fear that was pushing her now to such extreme lengths, the adrenaline fueling her temper until she was blinded by the chaos inside of her. If he could get her to acknowledge her fear, maybe he could bring her back to them. Back to him.

“Best thing you could do is find Max,” Varric continued. “Alive, and in one piece preferably.”

“I’m close to finding Samson’s lair,” Cullen confessed. “The letters she found when you all ransacked the quarries were most informative, and I have him tracked to Northern Orlais.”

“Well, maybe that will give her something to focus on in the meantime. Something to do. She’s not one for being idle,” Varric watched as two of the Chargers and one of the Wardens shuffled out of the melee, and several more took their spot. “At this rate, she’s going to go through the entire army to work off her nerves.”

“She hasn’t seriously injured anyone though,” Cullen noticed. “So she’s still in charge of her senses.”

“Fighting is what she was meant for. She won’t do anything she’d regret later. Not yet, at least.”

Cullen understood the implications of the dwarf’s warning tone. It was the same as Leliana’s worry. Find Max, or else. Or else everything they worked for might come crashing down around their heads.

 _No. Cat would not jeopardize the Inquisition to sate her need for revenge. She understands what is at stake, and it is unworthy for me to think that she would do such a thing. She would know that the best vengeance would be to take Corypheus down._ But how many enemies would she make on the way to topple the would-be god? 

He just wanted to keep her safe, as impossible of a feat that sounded. “I’ll try talking to her later. I’m going to try and get a bit more work done. Maybe I’ll have some good news for her by the time she tires of sparring.”

“Good luck,” Varric called.

Liviana finally called it quits when the sun began to sink down behind the Frostbacks. Every muscle in her body screamed with the abuse, countless bruises marring her skin. She had gotten sloppy, towards the end, allowing her opponents to get in hits they would not have otherwise. It had been years since she had trained so hard. Not since the ludus. 

Dragging herself back up to her room to clean herself off, Liviana picked up a few missives she found on her desk. Cullen had news, apparently. And Josephine included an urgent request to come see her as soon as she had time. _Urgent. But not important enough to stop me mid-spar. I’d better go see what it is. Please let it be something that will help me find Max._

It took what felt like forever to bathe with all of her soreness and dead weight, hefting each wooden limb into her breeches and tunic. For a second, she almost considered calling for help to dress. _Soft. I should train like that more often, even after I bring Max back home. I can’t afford to fight Corypheus in my current state. I need to be at my best. If I had been at my best, Max would not have been taken. He would be safe still. My fault._

“Thank you for coming by, Inquisitor,” Josephine motioned to the chair in front of her as Liviana entered her office. “I’ve received some… very interesting correspondence, and neither Leliana nor I can make heads or tails of it. We were hoping you knew. It is from the Antivan Crows, and bears the seal of Guildmaster Montalto.”

“Montalto?” Liviana’s head jerked up. “My mother is a Montalto. Benecio, the head of the family, is her elder brother.”

“Yes,” Josephine nodded. “He said, well, here.”

_Querida,_

_Hide no longer. V has been found._

_Your Tío Bene_

A map was also enclosed. Examining the neatly scrawled lines, Liviana sucked in a sharp breath. _Volesus. Tío Bene found him. I knew he didn’t die on Ath Velanis_.

“The map leads to an ancient Tevinter ruin in the wastelands of Northern Orlais. I believe the area is of some interest to the Commander as well. Who is this V?”

“Volesus,” Liviana murmured. “My dead master’s brother.”

“And he has been tracking you?” Josephine asked gently.

Liviana said nothing, could not speak a word on the matter. _Max. Volesus has Max, I know it. Why else steal my brother? Why not just kill him? No, whoever took him wanted me to suffer as much as possible. Max is there._ Rising abruptly, she gave a curt nod to her ambassador. “Pardon. I need to speak to the Commander.”

“Of course,” Josephine replied.

Stalking out of the great hall and across the bridge that led to Cullen’s office, Liviana lost herself in the past. _Dark stone. Blood. Lightning. Is this what Max is experiencing now? Maker, no. I was built for such things, but he… Please, Maker if you exist at all, if I have done anything worthwhile with my life, don’t let this be true. Don’t let my brother have lived through my life._

“Commander!” She shoved his door open without bothering to wait for an invitation, startling the lieutenants that were gathered around his desk. She ignored them all. “What have you found about Samson’s movements?”

“We have him,” Cullen nodded his permission for his men to leave. “In an old Tevinter ruin, in-”

“Northern Orlais,” she breathed. 

“Yes. The Shrine of Dumat. How did you know?”

The scroll clattered across his desk as she flung it towards him. “Volesus,” she growled. “Volesus is there. He’s the one who took Max.”

“There is no evidence that he is being held by-”

“It has to be Volesus!” Liviana slammed her fists down hard against his desk, scattering the neatly stacked piles. “He is the only one who would go to such lengths to hurt me! The rest of the Venatori and Samson, they would have just killed Max in the Emprise. But no, Max was targeted. Because he is my brother. Because of _me_ and I-”

“This is not your fault.” Rounding his desk, Cullen grabbed her shoulders in a firm grip, keeping her upright as she suddenly slumped against him. It seemed as if someone had punched her in the gut, all of the wind and fury that had been powering her these days dissipating into the nothing, leaving only a numb ache and a hollow void.

“It is,” she whispered, still clinging to him. “It’s my fault he was taken. I did this to him.”

“No,” Cullen replied vehemently. “You have done nothing wrong. Nothing at all, Cat. You-”

“Don’t call me that,” her voice was dark and bitter. “Not while he’s still- Just… I _can’t_. I can’t, Cullen.”

“Yes, you can,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair in a semblance of a kiss, a move that was lost on her at that moment. “You can because you are the strongest and best person I know. And because you will not be alone. I’m coming with you.”

“But, if there’s as much red lyrium there as the reconnaissance reports predict-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cullen shook his head. “I will not abandon you now. Not ever. And besides, if Samson is there, it is just more reason for me to go. I want to be there when you take him down I need to see this through.”

“Together,” her voice was so quiet, he had to strain to hear her.

“Always,” he swore fervently. “I won’t leave you.”

Drawing back, her stormy eyes searched his for a moment. “Alright. Let’s go get this fucker.”

“That’s my girl,” Cullen smiled. “I’ll alert the others.”

His…? The possessive pronoun didn’t affect her as it should have. For some reason, she understood the clear intent behind his words. She was his, not in any material sort of way, but as equals, a giving of heart and soul. She was his. And he was hers. And they would stay together forever. The idea only brought peace, along with a sense of hope. Everything would be fine, as long as he was with her. She could get through whatever lay in wait for her. And then it hit her-

_Maker. I’m in love with him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look she finally figured it out wooo


	63. Across the Waking Sea

Skyhold erupted into a flurry of activity. The advisors urged their Inquisitor to take a complement of soldiers with her, but she had refused. More people would increase their travel time, and she meant to push herself and her people to their limit in order to reach her brother as soon as physically possible. To that end, only a select few, those that she trusted implicitly, traveled with her. The Commander. The Seeker. Varric. Solas. The Iron Bull. And-

“I wish to go as well, Inquisitor.”

Liviana frowned as she tightened the last of her bags onto her saddle. “You?” She hadn't meant the single word to sound so accusatory, but her lips curled up into a sneer of their own accord.

“Yes,” Dorian Pavus nodded somberly. “If I may.”

“We have enough people already,” she began testily, only to have him cut her off.

“I would not slow down the retinue,” the mage argued. “Besides, he- he is my friend.”

_That’s right. Max was working with him on some spell, he said. And Cullen speaks well of the mage. Still…_

“Please,” Dorian continued, his voice softening, almost pleading. “The Venatori took him- my countrymen. I have to help make this right, Inquisitor, please. He is my friend as well, and I… I do not have so many friends that I would be willing to risk losing one without doing all that I can to help.”

Liviana saw Cullen walk up with his horse's reins in hand, his amber eyes trained on hers, watching, waiting to see what she would do. How she would react. Exasperated, she blew out a huff of air. “Do not slow us down, or I will leave you behind.”

“Understood,” Dorian nodded, and ran off to fetch a mount from the stables.

“Cat,” Cullen said softly. “He’s on our side.”

“I know,” she grumbled, and swung a leg up into her saddle. “Doesn’t mean I like it. I not stupid enough to turn away more help for Max, especially from someone with extensive battlemagic training. But if he does delay us, I will dump him in the nearest river and continue on.”

“I do not think it will come to that,” Cullen chuckled grimly. “But I cringe to think at how much he’d complain about his robes being ruined if you did.”

“Is everyone ready?” Calls of assent rang out around her. “It’s not going to be an easy trip.”

“We know, Firefly. We wouldn’t expect anything less,” Varric nodded. “We’ll get him back.”

“We better,” she growled. “Either way, Volesus will pay for this.” _And everything else he has done._ “Let’s go.”

The horses that had been selected for this trip were specially bred for the strain of a long, arduous journey, pushed as hard as they dared as they navigated the steep mountain trails that led out of the Frostbacks and up to Jader, where a familiar face waited them by the docks with their transport.

“Livvy!” Isabela rushed to meet her friend with a crushing embrace. “Maker, I’ve missed you. So, Herald of Andraste, hmm?”

Liviana snorted humorlessly as she disentangled herself from her friend’s arms. “The irony.” Standing on the deck of the ship, she watched as the crew rushed around to prepare for departure, noting how Cullen turned faintly green the moment he stepped on board.

“And there’s my favorite dwarf,” Isabela hugged Varric, and turned to the Commander. “And my favorite templar. My, you’ve filled out and grown up. Say-”

“No,” Cullen grumbled. Liviana ignored the bloom of warmth that spread through her chest at how quickly he rejected the sultry woman. “And I’m not a templar any longer.”

“So I’ve heard, Commander,” the pirate giggled. “Still, if you change your mind, I’ve got an entire room to myself down below. Captain’s perks, and all.”

“I will keep that in mind,” he replied stiffly. “Now, if you don’t excuse me, I think I’ll go below.”

“If you get seasick, it’s best to stay on deck,” Liviana called as he turned away.

“On… deck…” He blanched.

“But we should get you out of your plate, just in case. Come on, I’ll help. You look like you’re about to keel over,” Liviana took his elbow.

“Ooh, I see how it is,” Isabela laughed as the pair disappeared below. “Let me know if you need help, Livvy!" Turning back to the crew, her voice faded as the pair descended down below. "Hey, who brought the fucking ox-man?”

“Livvy?” Cullen asked as she opened a door to one of the rooms.

Liviana just shrugged as she began unbuckling his armor, and stacking the pieces neatly off to the side, swatting away his hand as he tried to help. “She’s the only one who calls me that. And Rilla now, I suppose.”

“It’s cute,” his grin was lopsided as he watched her.

“Cute,” she scoffed. “I am not cute, Commander.”

“I beg to differ,” he replied. “Cat, I-”

“Don’t,” she shook her head, her voice gentle, her eyes focused on the tabard she was carefully folding in her hand, her fingers smoothing over the embroidered facrib. “I know we need to talk. But not now, I need… I need to focus on saving Max. And then you can yell at me to your heart’s content.”

“Yell at you…?” Cullen wrapped one hand around her slim wrist with a light touch. “I have no intention of yelling at you, Catalina.”

“That’s good,” she murmured. Rushing through her movements as if she could stave off his scrutiny if she just moved fast enough, Liviana quickly pulled off her own leathers and placed them next to his, leaving only a thin tunic and breeches on. “There, all done. Let’s go back up now.”

“Up on deck. Maker’s breath,” he groaned as he let her pull her to his feet and out the door. 

“At least it’s a short trip. We should reach Val Royeaux the day after tomorrow. And then it should only take three, maybe four days to reach the Shrine. Hey, Var." She paused by the dwarf and gently shoved Cullen down onto the deck, his back propped up against a crate. "Make sure the Commander doesn’t fall overboard for me.”

“Will do, Firefly.”

“Where is she going?” Cullen watched as she toed off her boots and hauled herself up into the ropes.

“She thinks she’s a cat,” Varric grunted, watching her climb. “Or a bird. Don’t worry about her up there, that’s where she practically slept last time we were on this blasted ship.”

“Hey, no mean words about my pretty,” Isabela called. The pirate climbed up after Liviana, taking up her usual spot beside her friend. “Brought you an apple.”

“Thanks,” Liviana smiled, a tiny, fragile thing, but a smile nonetheless. 

Isabela rather thought not much had changed in her friend since the last time she saw her, specifically the last time they parted. That darkness in her soul was still there, churning, clawing at her heart, her voice and eyes both hollow and strained. Swinging her feet in the air, she considered what to do. _No talking about Max is my best bet._ “Did you know there’s a Qunari with your group? I’m sure you do, he’s rather large. And also a magister,” Isabela peered down towards the deck. “And a Seeker. I’m not sure which one I’m more surprised about.”

“Cassandra, the Seeker, is a good sort. Max is sweet on her,” Liviana kicked her feet, chewing the apple thoughtfully, sending up a silent prayer of gratitude that it was spring and warm this time around. “The Iron Bull is the Qunari. He’s… not like the others. You’d probably like him, for all that he’s of the Qun.” Isabela scowled. “It took me some time, but he’s had my back dozens of times now. And he likes bawdy jokes and songs. And alcohol. And sex. He really likes the sex part. Have you ever had a Qunari?”

“Impaled on my blade, is all,” Isabela muttered. “I didn’t even know Qunari drank. Or had sex for fun.”

“I don’t think they do. But that one does. He also likes killing ‘Vints, which is to be expected.”

“Which doesn’t make sense, considering you have a magister. Right there. See? I’m not sure if you’re seeing this. It’s the pretty, snake-like one who’s- wait. Is he laughing with the Knight-Captain? Are they friends?”

“Yes.”

“Andraste’s tits,” Isabela leaned back in the rigging. “The world really is ending. And are you friends with him too?”

“Not… exactly,” Liviana shrugged. “He’s done nothing but help, it’s true. But… he’s a Tevinter mage. I can’t accept him as readily as the others do. He is useful though, I’ll give him that. And he’s friends with my brother, so here he is.”

“At least you’ve still got some sense in you,” Isabela ruffled Liviana’s hair, messing up her braid to the latter’s irritation. “So the Qunari likes sex, hmm. How big do you think he is?”

“Dunno. Probably-” She wiggled her forearm in front of her friend’s face. “Like this, at least? A few of the Chantry sisters in Haven couldn’t stop talking about it. He’d show you if you asked.”

“He had Chantry sisters?”

“Two of them. At the same time.”

“Balls,” Isabela muttered as she eyed him. “Hmm.”

“Hey, Bull!” Liviana shouted down to the deck, startling almost everyone. “Izzy wants to know how big your cock is!” She could hear Cullen groaning from all the way across the ship, along with Cassandra’s snort of disgust. Grinning up at the women, Bull held out his hands a goodly distance apart.

Isabela whistled. “Damn. Well. I think this trip just got a hell of a lot more interesting, thanks to your new friend, love.”

“Always happy to oblige. And thanks for taking my mind off Max for a bit.”

Smirking at having been found out, Isabela just leaned her head on Liviana’s shoulder. “You’ll get him back. You’ve got good people with you. And the fastest ship in all of Thedas, captained by the sexiest pirate who ever lived.”

“Obviously, the last part is the most important.”

“Of course it is.”

Cullen glare was full of petulant heat when Liviana finally descended from the ropes and dropped back down onto the deck, envious of how easily she navigated the rolling ship. Beside him, Cassandra just stared out at the water.

“You alright?” Liviana came to rest beside the Seeker, leaning against the railing.

“Your brother… Maxwell. He…” Cassandra blew out a puff of air. “I do not even know what I am trying to say.”

“He likes you, you know,” Liviana replied softly. “The woman inside, not the warrior you show, like how you were talking about. He has some experience with looking underneath the rough shell of people. Namely, me.”

“That is true,” Cassandra murmured. “Perhaps I have not given him a fair chance. He is a good man, kind and honorable. He left me wildflowers,” she confessed with a slight blush and a dreamy, yet wistful smile. “All over my quarters along with a note that promised more upon his return if I would speak with him. I just hope I-” 

_Have not missed my chance_. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air. _The red will claim him_. All Liviana could picture was Fiona’s body, held immobile to the wall, impaled upon a red lyrium spike that splintered from her flesh in jagged shards. Except instead of seeing the elven mage’s face, it was her brother’s that haunted her. Or would he already have succumbed by the time they arrived? Or worse, turned into one of those twisted creatures the same as the templars? Emerald eyes unseeing, glowing crimson, black waves matted to his head, twisted crystals erupting from once smooth skin, that damnable song echoing in her blood-

“I will tell him,” Cassandra’s voice cut across her despair, jerking her chin in a decisive nod. “When we get back to Skyhold, with Maxwell, I will listen to what he has to say.”

_When. Not if. When._

“He would like that,” Liviana murmured, restlessly shifting from one foot to the other. She needed a distraction, something to get her mind off of Max and keep her hands busy, just for a little while, if that was even possible. “I need to do something. All this sitting around is- ugh. ‘Bela! Need anything?”

“One of the sails needs mending,” the pirate called over.

Right. She could do that. Walking over to where the spare supplies were kept, Liviana grabbed a needle and thread and found the sail, neatly folded inside of a crate. There was an empty corner over- No, she didn’t need to be alone right now. And Cullen wouldn’t be much for conversation, as much as the man was concentrating on not being sick, and Varric was busy with his scribblings right now. Her eyes flitted over the others, skipping Dorian entirely, ignoring Solas as she had no desire to hear about the Fade at present, and settled on the Iron Bull. Dragging the heavy canvas over, she plopped down next to him.

“So, you know how to sail, huh?”

“Did a bit of smuggling, while I was a merc,” she replied, turning the material over in her hands until she found the tear. “Some of the sailors taught me over time. And I spent a while on board this ship, before Haven.”

“You’re friend is hot.”

Liviana snorted. “Yeah. Fantastic tits, right?”

“And that ass,” Bull nodded eagerly, only grinning wider as Dorian shot him a glare.

“What was that?” She didn’t miss the exchange.

“Ah-" was the Qunari blushing? “Nothing.”

“Are you and the altus- like that?” Her mouth dropped open in shock, her eyes darting from one to the other in an attempt to comprehend what she was seeing. A member of the Qun, and a Tevinter mage. Together. It seemed impossible.

“A few times,” Bull muttered. “I mean. He’s pretty, right? Aw, void,” he amended as he peeked again at the mage, who had stiffened in- anger? “It’s more than just a fling. I think.”

“I should think so,” Dorian huffed. “After all, the things I let you do to me, I do not just let anyone do.”

Liviana nearly choked at that. “That’s… um, nice. For both of you. I don’t need to hear details, please Maker, I don’t need details.”

“You sure?” Bull grinned. “Because I can-”

“ _No_.”

“Fine,” he chuckled. 

‘Why were you downplaying it? Were you afraid of what I would think?” Liviana asked after thinking for a few moments.

“Nah. It’s just kind of new to me too, you know? Feelings and shit,” he grunted. 

“I thought Qunari didn’t do relationships,” she wondered.

Bull’s face darkened and shuttered close at the reminder. “We don’t,” his voice was short and curt.

 _Ah. So he doesn’t have it figured out either. Maker, is everyone as dysfunctional as me when it comes to these sort of things?_ Cursing as she pricked her finger with the needle, Liviana stuck the wounded finger into her mouth. “I’ve never been in love,” the words popped out of her mouth before she knew what she was doing. “I don’t think I know how.”

“Sure you do,” Bull appeared grateful that the topic of conversation was changing. “You’re human. All humans can love. It’s a thing you all do.”

“Not me,” she shook her head, intent upon her work. “I don’t know how. Did you know? A prince loved me, once. He was a good, kind, pious man. And I couldn’t love him back.” And there it was. What she was so afraid with Cullen. Was she truly in love with him? Maybe she was just flawed after everything, and what she felt for him was just fondness. What did love even feel like? She didn't want to rip his clothes off with a single glance, nor was she in danger of swooning around him, and any butterflies that should have disturbed her intestines were conspicuously absent. _I'm not in love with him. I can't be._

Bull tilted his head to one side and studied her. “Why would you want someone like that anyways? Someone who would be all holier than thou, bringing up every mistake you ever made and comparing it to their perfect behavior. That’s no fun. You need someone just as flawed as you.”

“That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” she scoffed. “Two damaged people together? We’d just tear each other down.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Or maybe you need to find the missing piece. Like a puzzle. Someone who complements you, who’s strong for you when you’re weak and vice versa. Besides, you’re not damaged. You’ve been through shit, true, and you’ve seen the worst that life has to offer. But you’re still here. Still fighting for what’s right, helping others. And so is he.”

“So is who?” Liviana paused her hands and narrowed her eyes up at him.

“Oh, I think you know.” Winking at her, his eye flicked toward the Commander, who was sitting with his head cradled between his hands.

“He’s not- We’re not- Friggin’ balls,” Liviana gave up as Bull began to laugh. “I’m not sure I like you right now, Qunari.”

“You like him though,” he grinned. “And he likes you. More than like, I would say, on both accounts.”

“It’s complicated,” she muttered, renewing her attack on the sail with vicious stabs.

“No it’s not. You’re making it complicated. When in reality, it’s very simple. You keep letting your insecurities and fear get in the way of what you want. You’re the Inquisitor. And Liviana. I mean, yeah, you’re making yourself vulnerable if you do open up and are honest with yourself. But you’d be safe with him. And I think it’d be worth it.”

“You think?” her eyes glanced up at him.

“Yeah. Shit, you would make some cute babies,” Bull nodded to himself. “Can’t really picture you pregnant, though.”

“Yeah, that’s never going to happen,” she snorted, biting through the thread as she tied off her last stitch. “There, all done. And… thanks, Bull.”

“Anytime,” he grinned. “Should talk to him soon though. That kicked puppy look he has when he watches you walk away from him is getting depressing. And he’s so pretty when he smiles. All that rugged Ferelden charm. I can see why you like him.”

“Bull.”

“Man knows how to handle a sword, that’s all I’m saying.”

Liviana smiled despite herself. Shaking her head, she bundled up the newly repaired sail and folded it back up, placing it back into the crate. Unbidden, her gaze traveled back over to where Cullen sat, miserable, his back propped up against a wall. “Is being out here any better?” She walked over to him.

“A bit,” he swallowed. “As long as I don’t look at the water. The breeze helps.”

“Come on,” holding out her hand, Liviana pulled him to his feet and steadied him. “I’ll make you some ginger tea, and you can lay down for a bit. A nap would do you some good, and since you can’t work on your reports right now, might as well sleep.”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Cullen protested weakly even as he obediently shuffled after her.

“Hush.” It was convenient, already knowing where everything was on board so it was a simple matter to shove the Commander into a spare hammock, the man grumbling about how bloody beds weren’t supposed to swing about the whole while, boil a pot of water, and steep the tea leaves. “No honey, right?”

“No,” he mumbled. “What’s wrong with cots anyways? Nice, solid wood with a firm surface. None of this sagging and dangling over mid-air nonsense.”

“This isn’t a passenger ship,” she replied dryly. “Hammocks save room for cargo. Also, the gentle rocking is soothing.”

“Soothing,” Cullen glared at her, carefully sipping at his tea. “Soothing, she says.”

This time, her smile reached her eyes as Liviana grabbed a cloth and dipped it in a cool barrel of water nearby. She pulled up a stool next to him and laid the compress across his clammy forehead, lightly scratching his scalp with her free hand. “Better?”

“Yes,” he sighed happily. “Feels nice. Much better than my first two trips over the Waking Sea.”

“Mm. By the way… thank you for coming. I know it’s not going to be easy for you there, but I’m glad you’re here,” she murmured.

“I told you,” his voice was mumbled, his eyelids drifting shut, already slipping into slumber. “Whenever, wherever. Anything you need. I’ll be here for you, Cat.” Reaching up, Cullen tugged the hand that was not upon his scalp into his own, and laced his fingers through hers. “No matter what.”

Inhaling a deep breath, feeling her lungs press back against the ache that gripped her heart, Liviana squeezed his palm tighter. “Get some sleep while you can. I'll stay with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So updates may be sporadic next 2 weeks. My mom comes in town tomorrow, and my dad next week, so I'll be spending most of my time with them. Or alternatively, I may just throw my children at them and hide and write and eat chocolate in my room hahaha. There's no telling. Just a heads up in case I disappear for a bit. :)


	64. On the Edge

The further they traveled, the quieter Liviana became. She recognized this stillness, the calm before the storm, used it to center herself before her matches back in Vyrantium. Mind clear, every heartbeat echoing through her limbs, sharply aware of everything little muscle twitch that arced through her nerves- she needed the void. All of her thoughts were empty, save two things.

 _Save Max. Kill Volesus_. It was her mantra, and even her breathing synced to those words, her own internal war drum. _Save Max. Kill Volesus_. She barely noticed as the green countryside faded to barren desert, or the stinging winds, or the scorching sun, the sand that blew up around them and wedged into every crevice. There was only one destination, one goal in her mind. _Save Max. Kill Volesus._

Her voice was quiet, commanding, making everyone that heard her snap to attention at first breath. Cullen was torn between an odd mix of pride and agitation, for this was the Inquisitor he knew she could be, but that it had to take this to bring her to that point was tragic. Liviana was a natural leader, despite her desire to not take charge. She had a presence that demanded attention, which was an impressive feat considering her stature. Seeing a massive Qunari leap to do her bidding was a sight that he would never forget, or how even the formidable Seeker scrambled like a common, untried recruit when issued an order.

He still feared for her. This icy chill that she cloaked herself with was unfamiliar to him, and that made him nervous. Not that he worried about what she would do, but more of how it would affect her should they find the worst had occurred. So all he could do was hope and pray to every deity he could think of, begging them to let Max be alive, and untainted. Otherwise… Maker help them all.

“There is something on the wind,” Solas remarked as the horses drew closer to the shrine. Raising one hand to shield his eyes, he squinted at a point far off in the distance. “It is- smoke?”

“Smoke?” Liviana’s eyes cut over to Cullen’s grim face.

“Samson. He’s burning the place,” Cullen breathed. “They knew we were coming.”

The Inquisitor’s skin paled to ashen bone. “ _No_.” In an instant, she kicked her mount into a racing gallop, its hooves kicking up sand into a cloud around her as she sped towards the fires. “No!”

Heedless of whether or not the others followed, Liviana raced at breakneck speed over the desert terrain, the winds and grit pulling tears from her eyes, pushing her horse to its limit until she reached the shrine and leapt from the saddle, both of her swords already bared. Without pausing to take stock of her new surroundings, she sprinted inside. And lunged at the first red templar she spotted.

“Where is my brother?!” Her snarl tore from her throat. The tainted man did not answer, merely grunting as he swung his massive sword up in the air. And fell where he stood, blood gurgling from the gash in his throat.

From somewhere in the recesses of her perception, she noticed the others as they piled into the courtyard, immediately engaging with more of the enemy. But Liviana’s focus was on the man that had appeared at the entrance to the building at the end of the yard, standing in front of the flames spewing from the door behind him, wreathing him in smoke. 

“Volesus.”

He smiled.

One foot planted in front of the other, and all her awareness narrowed to him. The man who had tortured her for weeks, who marked her body and her spirit in ways that would never heal. The man who had dared to steal the person she cared most about in this world from her, to do to him the same as he had done to her and more. Her hand gripped her hilts so tightly she thought she heard the metal creak. 

“Liviana,” Volesus called out warmly as she neared, a lionness, or a lynx perhaps, stalking her kill. His tone was more suited to a parlor than a battlefield, the casual condescendence akin to a lord greeting a serf he was fond of, “My darling pet. So good to see you again.”

“Where. Is. My. Brother.” Her eyes blazed like the sun, her fury almost tangible.

“Resting,” Volesus smiled. “He’s so dreadfully tired these days, you see, with all the fun we’ve been having together. Your brother has a remarkable will, I might add. It must run in the family. All of my tricks, and he never uttered a word against your precious Inquisition. You should be proud of him.”

“You fucking _bastard_. You fucking piece of kaffas.” Liviana spoke, low and devoid of feeling, only the barest quaver indicating the true depths of her emotions. “You are a dead man walking.” It the was only warning she gave before she launched herself at him.

Fire erupted from his blood, demons rising from the crimson that gushed forth from the slice in his arm, the drops coalescing in mid-air to fuel the rift Volesus ripped open. “My master taught me a few new tricks,” he grinned. “Let us see the mighty Victorem fight now.”

“Can’t fight me yourself?” she spat as she sliced through a wraith with hardly any effort. “Must you summon your lackeys to protect you?”

“Oh sweet girl. One as great as I has no need to fight his own battles. It is the whole point of having power,” he replied, standing back to watch her, smirking as she found herself being pushed back by the sheer numbers of the demons that spawned. “Oh, something else, too.” With a wave, he called forth four lumbering behemoths, creatures who were once men until the red lyrium had twisted them into beasts, from the shrine’s smoky depths. “I have a few more playmates for you as well.”

Liviana swore as they all surrounded her, her skin searing from the heat of the rage demons that pressed in. And all around was that damnable sound, the discordant melody of the red lyrium singing through her head and Maker, it was so hard to focus- “Cat!” she heard someone yell from beyond the din.

A demon screamed as it was pierced from behind, another tumbling the ground from the shield that bashed into the back of its head. Behind it, Cullen towered, his features furrowed in concentration and stained with ichor and sweat. “I’ve got you,” he nodded, taking up the space behind her back, firm and proud and tall.

Just like before. Like that night in Kirkwall that the bounty hunters had come for her and he had stayed. It seemed their relationship was forever just the two of them, standing against forces determined to take them down, whether it be bounty hunters or thugs in Hightown or demons- he always had her back, as she had his. Except this time, it wasn’t just the two of them, was it? As she fought, Cullen at her side, Liviana saw the others out of the corner of her eye.

The Iron Bull, laughing as he was knocked back by a behemoth’s swipe, baring his teeth as he yelled for it to try that again. Varric, perched atop a wall off to the side, picking off wraiths as fast they appeared. Solas, freezing demons of rage to the ground where they stood so Cassandra could shatter them into dust. And even Dorian, the altus who raised the bodies of the dead and defeated and bent them to his own will. Disturbing, yet effective. They all fought with her. For Max. For her.

Wrenching her sword free of the demon’s chest, Liviana cast a glare around the courtyard. The last creatures were being disposed of by the others. Turning around, she faced Volesus, who, for the first time, appeared… apprehensive. This time, Liviana was the one who smiled. She stepped forward, and her friends fell back as if on cue. Volesus would die by her hand. His death was hers, her vengeance, her reward.

“Samson has already fled this place,” Volesus began as he began to inch backwards like the worm she knew him to be. “He traveled east. If you leave now, you can-”

“I don’t care,” she cut in quietly. One foot was placed onto the stairs, and then another. And another. She climbed towards him.

“He- he is the one you want!” A burst of flame, yet Liviana barely noticed as it rolled over her.

“He’ll get his. Later.”

“I am more powerful than you!” His bellow was accompanied by an arc of lightning that coursed along her nerves, but she had felt worse before, from him. His mana was near drained now from his rifts and his demons, and he had precious little blood to spare to fuel anything else.

“You have never been powerful.”

Volesus turned to run, where to, he wasn’t sure, but as soon as he found an opening, he darted for it. But she was faster. Leaping forward, Liviana tackled him to the stone floor from behind, one dagger pinning him down straight through his calf. He screamed.

“You cannot do this!” He clawed at the dirt, screeching as she twisted the dagger.

“And yet, I am.” Cold, detached, she observed him. Sweat streaked his tanned skin, and the stench of piss rose from his robes. So scared, confronted as he was by his own mortality. She almost wished she was the type to enjoy this, but she found that she did not. There was no pleasure to be had here. Only revenge.

“The Elder One will come for you,” he spat with the last of his bravado. “He will destroy everything you love, just as you did for me!”

“I? I only took back what was mine by right. My freedom.” Another dagger through his thigh. “My future.” Another embedded in his shoulder. “My life.” Grabbing ahold of his shoulder, Liviana tore through the blades that kept him secured to the ground and flung him on his back, ignoring his piteous mewling and whimpering. “You would have lived, you know,” she leaned over his prone body until her face was barely a handsbreath from his own, her skin and leathers coated in his blood. “If you had left Max alone. But that is where you erred. You came for my brother. And that is why you will die.”

Sliding the dagger out of his own boot, Liviana poised it above his heart, her eyes never leaving his, and drove it home, holding it steady until the last of his twitches and struggling faded. It was done. Volesus was dead.

_Max._

Her head flew up. Sprinting inside the shrine, the motionless magister already forgotten, Liviana held up a hand over her mouth to guard against the smoke that stung her eyes. “Max? Max!” A few others had already ventured inside to search, and it was to them she looked now.

“Over here!” Cassandra’s voice came from further back.

“Max!” Liviana gasped as she spotted a figure slumped over and seated upon a dirty pallet, two arms chained to the wall.

“Kitty Cat?” His emerald eyes, clouded over with pain, turned towards the sound of her voice. “Maker, you sure are pretty,” he rasped. “Definitely took after Mother’s side. Almost as pretty as Cass.”

“Max,” she sobbed, skidding to her knees next to his side. “Hold on,” fumbling with a lockpick, her fingers trembled from relief as she picked his manacles open. “Maker.”

As she grasped his arm, his sleeve slid back. Exposing scars upon scars, most healed, a few still raw and oozing. “Hard to heal myself here,” Max whispered when he noticed where her horrified gaze fell. “The song, it gets in your head, distracts you. It’s inside, Kitty Cat. I can hear it.”

 _No_. What she had thought was just the reflection from the fires and red lyrium was actually within his eyes. She could see it now. Her brother had been infected with red lyrium. “It’ll be okay,” she managed to croak. “We’ll figure it out. You’re going to be fine, Maximus.”

“Cat, you know that’s not-”

“You are going to be fine, dammit,” she growled. “Bull, help him up. He can’t stand very well.”

“I’ve got him,” Cassandra shoved the Qunari out of the way and easily scooped up the man into her arms, under his knees and back.

“Cass,” Max murmured. “I-”

“Shut up,” the Seeker snapped. “You heard the Inquisitor. You are going to be fine.”

Weakly chuckling, Max let his head fall against her shoulders. “Yes, Lady Seeker.”

“Pavus,” Liviana turned towards the mage as they exited into the sunlight, every feature on her face etched from stone. “You are a necromancer, correct? Bring that sentina back.”

“Pardon?” Dorian stared at her.

“Reanimate Volesus,” she growled. “So I can kill him again.”

“Cat,” Cullen rasped, his throat rough from the smoke. “It is done.”

“Like the Void it’s done,” she snarled. “Do you see what that filth did to my brother?”

“I know,” Cullen coughed, pounding on his chest. Sweat still beaded against his forehead. “Maker, this smoke. Max is alive, we-” Another cough wracked his body. “Dammit, I-” Suddenly, the Commander fell to his knees, his fingers scrabbling against his throat as he retched uncontrollably against the flagstones.

“Cullen? Cullen!” Liviana dropped beside him, trying her best to soothe him. “Is it the lyrium? Kaffas, we need to get out of here. We need to get them all out.”

“I’ve got these tools,” Varric held up a leather satchel. “We looked through everything else and grabbed all that we could find inside that looked as if had worth. Should we do anything with Maddox’s body?”

“Who?” she frowned up at him.

“A Tranquil,” Cullen muttered in between his coughing fits. “He- he helped… Samson. Mage from… Gallows.”

“Shh, don’t talk,” Liviana murmured. “Leave him to rot here with the others,” she told the others. “We need to go. Now.”

They traveled as far as they could, until they were all sure that the lyrium’s song or fumes could no longer be detected before they pitched camp. Liviana stayed with Cullen, who insisted that Solas attend to Max before he allowed himself to be examined. “I will be fine,” he insisted. Liviana was torn. The two people she cared most about in this world, hurting at the same time… She felt so helpless. She was no mage, and the simple potions she had on hand barely took the edge off of Cullen’s raging headache, or stemmed his hacking cough. But she knew Max’s wounds were more serious. What Volesus had done to her brother…

_No. Cullen is right. It’s over now. Volesus is dead. Samson got away, but Varric has the tools the Tranquil used to craft his armor. Dagna might be able to unmake it. I just need time for both Max and Cullen both to heal. They’ll be okay. They have to be._

Silently, Liviana knelt next to Cullen on the warm sand, watching him carefully while the others constructed the tents and lit the fires. Once it was ready, she hefted him up and gently led him inside and down to a bedroll. Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes as another violent fit wracked his body. Maker, he was suffering so much. 

“I need to tell you,” he wheezed as he leaned back, his hand gripping hers painfully. “In case… In case I…”

“You’re not going to die, don’t even say it,” Liviana choked back a sob. “You promised me, Cullen. You promised you’d stay with me. So don’t you dare back on that now. You said you’d never abandon me, remember? I won’t forgive you if you do. I swear it, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, don’t you _dare_ , you- you- stupid bloody templar!”

He almost managed a small chuckle. “So much fire. It’s what drew me to you in the first place. So strong and determined and so beautiful,” he murmured. “So very beautiful... here,” he gently stroked her cheek, “And here,” his fingers dropped to the skin over her pounding heart. “It... makes sense... why... I...

Her fingers tightened even more around his hand. “Why you what?” she whispered.

“Why… I…” Cullen’s hand fell slack in hers. His eyelids fluttered shut.

“No,” she stared down at him. “No, Cullen! Cullen, don’t you dare!”

“What is going on?!” Cassandra burst into the tent, alarmed by Liviana’s shriek.

“Cullen, he- he-”

Shoving the Inquisitor aside, Cassandra leapt towards the man and pressed two fingers to his neck, desperately feeling for a pulse. “He lives. But he is very weak. We need a healer, blood and ashes,” she swore. “Solas! Solas, the Commander, he is-”

The tent flap shoved open. “Max, no,” Liviana scrambled to her feet at the sight of her brother lumbering into the dimly lit space. “You need to rest-”

“Hush,” Max croaked. “I can help. Solas is wiped out from healing me, and I’m a better healer anyways. The smoke from the red lyrium probably sent Cullen’s body into shock. I need to clear his lungs.”

“This is not a good idea. You have red lyrium within you, too, and-” Cassandra clamped her mouth shut as Liviana shot a death glare her way, furious at being reminded that her brother was also dying at the moment.

“Should be fine,” Max murmured, his hands and mana already scanning Cullen’s body. “He’s already unconscious, and it’s contained within me at present. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Max-”

“Hush, Kitty Cat,” he repeated, this time more gentle. “Besides, you need him more than you need me. I can do this.”

“That’s not true,” Liviana sobbed. “I need you both! I can’t lose either of you!”

“No one you love ever truly leaves you,” Max’s lips twisted up into a wry smile as he worked. 

Liviana stilled, sinking down to her knees beside Cullen’s bedroll. Cassandra slipped quietly back out of the tent. “Mother said that. And I told Calliope the same, when we were children.” Her friend’s name felt strange in her mouth. How long had it been since she had spoken it aloud? Years, now.

“She did,” Max replied. “One of the few things she’s ever said I’ve agreed with. Hey, you haven’t written them yet? About everything…?”

“No,” she murmured. All of her attention was focused on the unconscious man, and how deathly pale he looked. “I wanted to wait until I had definite… well.”

“You didn’t want them to be in limbo either,” he nodded. “Given Mother’s constitution, that was for the best. There. His lungs are a bit bruised, but I think he’ll be fine. His withdrawals might get a bit worse over the next few weeks, but he’ll survive.”

“Thank the Maker,” Liviana sagged against the cot, pressing Cullen’s limp hand to her tear-streaked cheek. “Now you. You are going back to bed.”

Max knew better that to argue with his sister about this, not in the state of mind she was in. If she wanted to believe he would heal, well, perhaps it was kinder for now to let her think the best. It was a change, her being optimistic and him being a realist, but that’s how it always had been between them. When she was strong, he could lean on her. And now that she was exposed, he would be there for her. As long as he could be. “The Seeker carried me. Did you see that?”

“She was very worried about you,” Liviana slung his arm over her shoulder. “She liked the flowers, by the way. You’re such a romantic.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, but it never reached his eyes. “Wish I could’ve seen her face when she saw them.”

“You’ll just have to give her more later, so you can see for yourself. Here.” Gently, she lowered him back onto the bedroll and sat herself next to him. “I’ll watch over you.”

“Go back to him,” Max squeezed her hand. “I’ll be fine, Kitty Cat.”

“No,” she replied stubbornly. “He’s sleeping. And you don’t need to be alone, not after everything. I know that better than anyone.”

His voice grew faint. “Yeah. I don’t think I can sleep anyways. The red, every time I close my eyes, he’s- The song, the screams, it's...”

“I know,” she whispered. “Maker, I never wanted you to know what it was like. It should have been me, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking _sorry_."

"It's not your fault," he murmured. "Stop blaming yourself."

"I should have been there," she shook her head. "I should have protected you, but I didn't. But I’m here now, Maximus.”

“But you should be with him," Max squeezed her hand. "Send Cassandra in. ‘Sides, I need a pretty attendant.”

“You told me I was pretty earlier,” her lips twitched up in a semblance of a smirk down at him.

“You are,” Max agreed. “But she’s prettier.”

“Brat,” Liviana affectionately shoved him with a featherlight touch. “Alright, I’ll send her in.” Leaning over, she brushed a kiss against his forehead. “I love you. I know I don’t say it much, but I do. I’m so glad I found you again.”

“I love you too, little sister,” he replied softly. “Now, shoo, and go snuggle your man.”

“Yes, yes,” sighing, she rose and exited the tent, scanning the little group of people huddled besides the fire to stave off the growing chill. “Cassandra? He’s asking for you.”

“Of course,” the Seeker practically leapt to her feet and sprinted into the tent.

 _She’s good for him. And he will treat her well_. It was all she could hope for, her brother with a person she had come to consider a dear friend. Nodding to the rest, Liviana pushed back into Cullen’s tent. His skin was still waxen, but his chest rose steadily now, deep and slow and reassuringly alive. Grabbing the other bedroll in the corner, she unfurled it next to him and lay down on her side, wrapping every part of her body she could manage around his. Her hand rested upon his chest, so she could feel the beat of his heart and take comfort from the rhythm and the way it echoed through her veins. 

“Cat?” Cullen shifted beside her.

“I’m right here,” she whispered.

A faint smile crossed his lips. “Good.”


	65. A Promise to Be There

Max’s facade fooled no one, especially not his sister, even as he slowly regained his strength despite the red lyrium that creeped through his veins. Liviana heard every iota of pain that he tried to conceal in his graveled voice, heard his piercing screams as he jolted out of yet another nightmare, recognized the hollow ache within his eyes, saw the twitch of his hands at every shadow that passed over him, and the dark circles under his eyes that grew more hollow by the day. He bore the same scars as her now. It wasn’t fair. She was one who had already borne the punishment, the torture, the pain. He was supposed to have remained untouched. _Why_ , she begged a silent Maker and Andraste, _why did you let him be taken?_

There was no answer. As expected.

Cullen was still weak, his withdrawal as fierce as it ever had been. Liviana rode with him, together on his sturdy mount, his hands tucked securely around her waist to ensure that he stayed in the saddle. She wished that he would have ridden without his armor, as the plate did no favors with regards to his fever, but she understood his reticence to ride unprotected; it would have been the same for her.

The return trip back to Skyhold took just a couple more days than the initial, and Liviana spent almost every waking second either tending to Cullen’s basic needs while the others helped her brother. She felt guilty; after all, Max was her family, and she should have stayed by his side. But Cassandra pointed out that Cullen would not wish anyone else to care for him as he considered his symptoms to be a weakness for him to bear alone. He only trusted Liviana to see him when he was at his lowest points. So she did. Nursed him through his fevers, his episodes of delirium, the vomiting, everything, cleaning up after him without a second thought. All she wanted was for him to get better.

They finally slipped into Skyhold under the cover of night, since Cullen testily insisted that he wished as few of his men as possible to see him in such a state, along with demanding to ride his own horse, alone, with both Liviana and Cassandra flanking him just in case. His fever was still high, but he was coherent enough so they both allowed him to retain his dignity.

“I will take Max back to his room and summon the other healers,” Cassandra said.

“Alright,” Liviana nodded. “I’ll watch over Cullen.”

“I do not need to be watched,” the Commander muttered to one in particular. He knew neither of them would listen to him anyways.

“Come on Ser Stick,” Liviana took his arm. “If you behave, I’ll even read you a bedtime story.”

“Maker’s breath.”

Leading him up the stairs to his office, Liviana ignored his grumblings as she helped him unbuckle his armor, placing it neatly upon his stand before ushering him upstairs. “I’m going to get a few things to help your fever and your pain. I expect you to be in bed when I come back.”

“Bossy,” she heard him call after her. It only took her a few minutes to run to her room, change out of her travel gear, and swipe several potions from Max’s workbench. Returning to Cullen’s room, she found him to be already fitfully dozing, thrashing around on top of his sheets. 

“Cullen,” she gently touched his bare shoulder and stirred him to wakefulness. “Here, drink these.” Obediently, he opened his mouth and let her tip the potions into his mouth and swallowed. “Now scoot over. What? Did you really think I was leaving you alone tonight?”

“You’re staying here?” He whispered into the darkness.

“Always,” she snuggled in beside him, wrapping her arms around his clammy chest. “Now go to sleep.”

“Yes, Lady Trevelyan.”

“You are so lucky you’re already sick, otherwise I’d punch you for that.”

***

Cullen blinked groggily as a bright ray of sunshine spilled across his faces. He felt… surprisingly good. His body was still stiff and sore, but his vision was clear and his stomach felt mostly settled, if a bit empty at the moment. Reaching out his hand, he felt around for Liviana. But there was only empty blanket to his side, the spot where she had lain now cold and devoid of her heat.

“Cat?”

“Downstairs,” she called out from below. “Trying to catch up on a thousand letters that Josephine had waiting for me. Apparently, I’m supposed to respond to them all. Tell me, where am I supposed to find the time for that? King Alistair is due at the end of the week as well, not to mention Max’s condition and ugh.”

Carefully picking his way down the ladder, Cullen rubbed the growth of stubble on his chin as he glanced over the crate of letters that sat next to his desk. “What is that smell?”

“Perfume,” she stated flatly. “Orlesian perfume.”

“On the letters? Maker’s breath, there are so many.” Peering over her shoulder, he watched as she skimmed through the contents of one with its elegant, flowing script, and threw it to the ground with a huff. And did the same to the next one. And the next. “What are they for?”

“Marriage proposals,” she gritted out. “It seems as if every noble present at the Winter Ball has petitioned for my hand. How are you feeling, by the way?”

Cullen chuckled at her ire. She really was adorable when she was irritated. As long as it was not directed at him, that is. “Much better today, thank you. And you’re beautiful, powerful, strong. It make sense why all of them want you.”

Grabbing a handful of expensive parchment, she crumpled it all up into a ball between her hands. “I will not be a trophy for these greedy, yellow bellied, nobles,” she spat. “To be primped and put up onto a shelf purely for decoration and used as a broodmare? No.”

“The more fool they if they think they can control you,” he snorted. “Although, I would pay good coin to see them try. Speaking of nobles. Didn’t you use to like Sebastian? I know you turned down his proposal, but I did read the Tale of the Champion.”

“I still haven’t killed Varric for that,” Liviana grumbled. “No. I cared for him, yes, but I never loved him.”

“But he loved you.”

“Apparently, so do all of these people,” snatching up another handful, she waved the perfumed letters in his face. 

Cullen grew pensive at that. Quietly, he replied, “Any man would be a fool not to love you.”

Something in his voice made her hesitate. Lifting her gaze, she breathed in a gasp at the intensity she sw reflected in his amber eyes. How did he look even more handsome now, with his unshaven face and mussed hair and worn eyes than he had ever before? “And what about you?” The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. “You said you were a fool once. Are you still?”

His stare bored into her her, every second that passed like pure agony. Cullen opened his mouth to answer her, but it never came. Turning tail, Liviana bolted from his chair and ran from his office before he had the chance.

 _Idiot_ , she hissed to herself as she slammed the door into Solas’ rotunda. _Why did I ask him that? Of all the stupid-_

“Inquisitor, are you well?”

She needed to compose herself. “I’m fine. Sorry for barging in like that, Solas.”

“No need for apologies,” he nodded.

_I just need to forget about it. Dammit, we still haven’t talked yet either, have we? And I keep making things worse and- ugh. I need to forget about it. Cullen is feeling better, so Max needs to be my priority. And I have a literal mountain of paperwork still waiting on me, and I need to talk to Dagna about those lyrium tools we found, see if she has any ideas about what to about Max’s situation, and make sure everything is ready for Alistair’s arrival. Work. There is enough work to keep me occupied until the next age, at least._

With that firmly in mind, Liviana dove into her tasks with a single-minded ferocity that surprised herself a bit. Shoving the issue of her emotions out of mind, she became the Inquisitor and the noble that Josephine asked her to be for the next several hours, flitting about the great hall and speaking with the gathered nobles, reading letters and treaties and signing forms, only managing to escape for half an hour after lunch to check on her brother. Max was attempting to hold onto his usual optimism by sheer virtue of that same tenacity he teased her for having. 

“Don’t worry about me, Kitty Cat,” he managed a shaky smile as she sat on his bed. “Dorian and I were looking into lyrium before all this mess started. We think we might have figured something out, but we’re still working on it. Fiona and Solas and a few of the other mages are helping, as well. We’ve got the greatest magical minds in Skyhold right now. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time ‘til we have a viable remedy.”

“So there’s a chance you can be cured of this?” she bit her lip nervously. The song was louder than that it had been when she first rescued him, the green of his eyes turning more crimson each day. Maker, if crystals began to grow from his body, she did not know what she would do.

“I haven’t given up hope yet," he replied quietly, his gaze not quite meeting hers. "And neither should you.”

“Alright.”

Numbly, she went through the rest of her day, barely taking note of the conversations around her. She almost sobbed with relief when it was finally late enough for her to sneak off to her bed, but as luck would have it, she could not sleep. Too much weighed upon her mind. Cullen. Maxwell. The nobility. All the demands that Thedas made of her. Flinging the covers off of her, she pulled on her clothes and boots.

Skyhold was silent at this hour, everyone abed save the few guards that patrolled the keep. She wanted to walk, and she needed air, but the battlements were out of the question tonight. Cullen often walked those to shake off his nightmares. _The rookery._

On silent feet, Liviana ascended the stairs to the place where the ravens were kept. The birds watched her curiously as she crept through the room, and slipped out to the balcony beyond. Her elbows rested against the railing for just a brief moment, her head laying in her hands, until she pushed off the wall and began to pace with a frustrated sigh. What was she supposed to do? She loved Cullen. She was in love with Cullen Rutherford. Her best friend. This wasn’t supposed to happen, they had agreed against this way back in Kirk-

_No. We agreed to not ever sleep together, lest we ruin our friendship. Love never came into consideration, because I never expected to fall in love with anyone. Ever. What am I supposed to do now? I could tell him. I think he cares for me too, I’ve seen the way he looks at me and how he’s changed in recent weeks. But am I sure I’m in love with him? I’m not nervous around him, there are no butterflies in my stomach, nor do I ever feel like swooning in his presence or whatever nonsense the stories speak of. But this feeling, this ache I have in my chest, the way I feel with him, I- I don’t know. Besides, what do I have to offer him? A family, a home? I would make a terrible wife. I have nothing to give him._

“I thought I heard someone slip through the rookery.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Liviana grimaced as Leliana closed the door behind her.

“You didn’t,” Leliana assured her, pulling a knitted shawl tighter around her body. “Why are you out here?”

“I needed to pace outside,” she confessed. “My balcony isn’t big enough for pacing, unless I pace in circles, and that was only making things worse.”

“I see.” Taking up a spot next to her, Leliana leaned back against the wall and cocked her head to one side. “And what has you so agitated this late at night?”

“Everything. Nothing,” Liviana muttered. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will. But it helps, to have a friendly ear to listen, no? I assure you, anything you would say would remain in the strictest of confidences.”

Chewing on her lip, for several minutes Liviana remained silent. She wasn’t sure what to say, or how to say it. What would the spymaster, a Sister of the Chantry, know about love anyhow? _It has to be more than me. I think a child would know more about love than I, considering how my life has gone. It couldn’t hurt, could it? After all, Leliana probably already knows what I’m going to say._ “...Have you ever been in love?”

“Many times,” Leliana smiled. 

“You- what? Really?”

“Yes,” she giggled. “Why is that so surprising?”

“I always thought love, true love, was a once in a lifetime sort of thing,” Liviana frowned. “That’s what the books say, at least.”

“Ah, but there are many different kinds of love. And some people fall in love much faster than others. Me, for example. I’ve fallen in love without a single word being uttered before.”

“...Oh.”

“The books do usually speak of such all-encompassing love, where your heart stops and time stands still. But in my experience, love is rarely like that. Flowers and poetry by candlelight are good for some, but not everyone wants that sort of thing.”

“Cassandra does.”

“Yes,’ Leliana agreed. “And while I do find enjoyment in such things, it’s never been a necessity. Is that something you want?”

“No,” she shook her head. “That all seems a bit much for me.”

“Sometimes it is a quiet love we crave. A simple feeling of comfort and belonging. Tell me,” she glanced over at the Inquisitor. “When you have news, either good or bad, who is the first person you want to share it with? When you see something interesting out in the field, who do you think of telling first? Who is the last person on your mind before you go to sleep? When you picture your future, whose presence can you not see yourself living without? Love isn’t always some grand gesture or a declaration down on bended knee before a crowd. Sometimes it’s just a promise, to always be there for that person, and a desire to share your life with theirs, and to be a part of theirs.”

Cullen. The answer to every one of those questions was Cullen. When the Inquisition ended, for she knew that this organization would not last forever, and they all went their separate ways, she had always just assumed she and Cullen would end up in the same town together. He was there, in every future she imagined, not necessarily as her lover, but as her friend. “Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with your friend?”

“Oh, of course. In fact, those make for the best relationships. A person with whom you can laugh with, with who you can truly be yourself? That is priceless,” Leliana added. “Forget what the books say. What does your heart tell you?”

“That I’m an idiot,” she grumbled, to the other woman’s delight.

“Hearts are fickle things, but I believe yours will steer you right,” Leliana laughed.

“Another question.” Backing away from the railing, Liviana leaned against the solid wall of the keep and slid down to the ground, her hands resting atop her knees. “Do you believe I was sent by Andraste?”

“I want to,” she replied quietly. “On my better days, I do believe. My faith is not always what it should be though.”

“Why me, though?”

“Who knows the Maker’s plan?” Leliana shrugged and sat down next to her. “His Will is a mystery to us all.”

“But you believe that all this,” she held up the anchor upon her palm, “Was the Maker’s plan.”

“I do.”

“Sebastian said the same thing a long time ago,” she muttered. “I asked him if it was the Maker’s will that I was stolen from my family as a child, and sold as a slave in Tevinter. Was that what He wanted for me?”

“It is hard to say. But I know this. Being a slave made you strong. Your experiences and the way you processed your trauma has given you your firm, personal moral compass. If you had remained in Ostwick with your family, who would have run into the room in an attempt to protect the Divine? Would an ordinary person have had the strength to survive what you have? Perhaps all these things were necessary, so that the Maker could send us the one person who would be strong enough to protect us all. I could not have borne what you have half as well. Neither could Cassandra, nor Cullen or Josephine or any of the others I know. And I know a lot of people.”

“I’m not sure that helps,” Liviana sighed. “But I suppose if it had to someone, I’m glad it’s me. I wouldn’t wish these experiences on anyone else.”

“And that is why we are lucky to have you,” Leliana patted her arm. “Your heart does you credit. And may I say that it’s an honor to serve you, Inquisitor.”

“You don’t serve me- Oh fine,” she gave up once she saw Leliana’s expression. “I get it. Thank you for your help. I think I might actually be able to sleep for a bit now.”

“Pleasant dreams, Inquisitor,” Leliana tilted her chin and slipped back inside.

Slowly, Liviana dragged herself back through the keep and up the myriads of stairs that led back to her room. Shrugging off her clothes, she pulled on the simple cotton shift she normally slept in and after a second’s hesitation, grabbed a robe as well and walked out onto her balcony. Could she just trust her heart? Was it as easy as that?

Someone knocked at her door.

“Cullen? What are you doing here?”

“I saw your light on,” he rubbed at the back of his neck, his eyes staring somewhere in the vicinity of her bare feet. “I couldn’t sleep, so I wondered if you… If you were still up.”

Both of them stood there for a moment, before Liviana jumped. “Oh! Sorry. Would you like to come in?”

“If it wouldn’t be an imposition,” he replied quietly.

“No. No, come in. I just had- have a lot on my mind. So I couldn’t sleep either.” Walking inside, she sat on the couch in front of her hearth, and patted the seat next to her, but Cullen just shook his head and inhaled a deep, shaky breath.

“I must say this. And I’m afraid, no, I’m _terrified_ it’s going to change everything, and I want it to change, but not to the point where you hate me and avoid me because I could not bear that. Our friendship is the singular most important thing to me, the one bright spot in my life. You. You are… everything to me. When I’m with you, life with all its hardships gets easi- well, it doesn’t get easier, not really, but everything becomes more bearable because I know you’re there, and I know you’ll help me, even if I don’t want you to help, because that’s just who you are. And you’re like that with everyone, so maybe I shouldn’t expect to feel like I’m different, but I do, or I want to. And yes, I know I’m rambling but I- Maker.” Stopping on the threshold of her balcony, Cullen leaned his forehead against the cool glass of her door and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Cursing under his breath, he straightened his spine and turned back to face her, his eyes locking with hers as he attempted to keep his voice level. “I care for you. More than it is reasonable for me to do so. No, that is not sufficient. I- I love you. I fell in love with you months ago. Maybe even longer, I don’t know. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way towards me, but I had to tell you. I had-”

Out of nowhere, Liviana surged forward, her fingers fisting in the softness of his tunic and dragged him towards her, planting her lips firmly over his. “Shut up.”

Cullen blinked down at her, his mouth hanging slight agape. “P-Pardon?”

“I said shut up. You are talking far too much,” she breathed. And with that, she kissed him again. Her hands rose to wrap around his neck, tugging her down to her level, her skin soft and gentle on his. “So many words,” she murmured into his lips, smiling as his hands gripped her waist tightly and clutched her almost desperately against his firm chest. “Only Orlesians use that many words, you know.”

“You are a horrible person, and I am terribly offended now,” he weakly chuckled, pulling back by just a fraction to peer down at her, his eyes roving her face almost wildly with a touch of incredulity. “This is… alright?”

“Really?” she giggled. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Well, I did,” he pointed out with a growing smirk. “It only seems fair, you know. If you do feel the same, that is. Of course, it is impossible for you to be dishonest. And yes, I am rambling again. How many words do Free Marchers use anyways?”

“Not sure,” she shook her head. “Antivans though, we use actions instead of words.”

“Now, that I know that is a lie. I know Josephine quite well, and she- mmph,” he grunted as she leapt into his arms and curled her legs around his waist, her lips sealing over his again. Staggering back a few steps, Cullen blindly made his way over to her bed, falling back onto the soft surface with her body still wrapped around his.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen drew a trembling breath in. Leaning back, he gazed up at her. A piece of her hair fell loose of her bun and he gently tucked it behind her ear, stroking her cheek. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” Her face lit up in a beauteous smile, the gray of her eyes almost glowing in the starlight that spilled through her windows. “I think.”

“You think,” he snorted. “Really?”

“Well I’ve never been in love before. So it’s rather hard to tell if what I feel for you is precisely love or not,” she lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “But I know that I’m happy when I’m with you. You make me feel… Valued. Wanted. Safe. Which is rather silly, saying it out loud. I’m more than capable of protecting myself, and caring for myself. But with you…” She smiled shyly down at him. “I don’t feel like I have to. I feel like, if I let myself go, you would always catch me.”

“I would,” he murmured softly. “I would be right there by your side, if you let me. No matter what.”

“I know. You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever kissed.” She leaned down to brush her lips against his cheekbones. “That night in Halamshiral.”

“I- what? But you’ve…”

“Yes,” she replied dryly. “I have. But people always kissed me. I never had the urge to kiss anyone before. Until you. Stop smirking like that, it’s unbecoming.”

“I don’t care,” he grinned. “You wanted to kiss me.”

“I did. And I do. If only to wipe that ridiculous look off your face.”

“Well don’t let me stop you.”

Laughing, Liviana lowered her face back down to his. She felt his hands roaming over her back, his fingers tugging at the leather tie that held her hair up and in place. “What are you doing?”

“I like it when your hair is down,” he replied sheepishly. “It smells nice. And it’s soft.”

Taking the string, she combed out her long waves and then settled back over him, her waves framing their heads and shielding them from the outside world. “Better?”

“Much,” he sighed happily. 

“And your head?”

“I feel perfect right now.” Liviana raised an eyebrow. “Just a slight headache,” he amended at her skeptical glare. “And I’m still sore. But otherwise, I’m perfect.”

Nodding, she laid herself down upon his chest, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. “Stay here tonight. With me. I miss sleeping next to you,” she blurted out, holding her breath until he answered her.

“Maker, _yes_. You have no idea how tempted I was to strangle Josephine when she exchanged your bed,” Cullen grumbled.

“Probably not as much as I wanted to.” Scrambling off of him, Liviana quickly stripped back down to the simple shift she wore underneath her robe, Cullen going as far as to pull off his shirt and breeches, leaving only his smalls on like he usually did. 

“Ah,” he glanced down at himself. “Is this alright?”

“Afraid I might ravish you in your sleep?” she giggled. “That’s how you usually sleep.”

“I know, but it feels… different,” he frowned. “Shouldn’t it be different now?”

“Should it?”

Thinking for a moment, Cullen shook his head and climbed into the bed. “I suppose not. Come here you. Cat, don’t you dare put your feet on me- Cat! Maker’s beard, why are your feet always freezing?”

“Warm,” she snuggled up to his side. “Why are you always so warm?”

“Because I am a normal human. I’m still not sure what you are,” he snorted. “A lizard, perhaps.”

“I am the woman you love, apparently. Or have you forgotten already?”

“I don’t think there is a person in all of Thedas that could ever forget you,” he chuckled. “Least of all me. This feels…” Settling his arms around her, Cullen felt her head lay against his shoulder, her hand idly playing with the hair that covered his chest.

 _Like home_. “Nice,” she whispered.

“Yes. Nice,” he murmured. “I love you, my Lady Lizard.”

“I love you, too, Ser Stick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never doing a slow burn this long again. I almost died with the agony. XD
> 
> I hope the culmination of everything isn't too anticlimactic. I wanted their love to be more... simple. Comfortable. I think all of the romance novels and movies do a disservice to people, and they try to convince us that love is some epic, earth shattering thing full of raging passion and it can be, but a lot of times it's not. Sometimes love is, as Leliana said, a quiet love with someone that makes your life brighter and warmer.


	66. Burning Hope

She was so beautiful. Liviana lay sprawled out across the bed, half of her body resting across his. Dawn was just beginning to break, and the palest sliver of light lay scattered across her golden cheek, illuminating the scars that littered her body. Maker, how had she survived so much and still remained so kind and good, he would never know. Perhaps the Maker was watching over her. Or maybe that’s just how she was. If he were a betting man, he’d bet on the latter.

Gently, he tried to extricate himself from her limbs. He was still in pain, and he knew that if she were awake, she would insist he take another day to rest, but he had rested enough. There was still so much to do, and such little time to do it in. Not to mention the King of Ferelden would soon be here, and he needed to double check security, and-

“I know you’re not getting up to go back to work today.”

 _Bloody void_. Cullen chuckled. “I need to.”

“Bullshit.” One gray eye peeked open. “You need to take it easy, Cullen.”

“I’ve worked like this before,” he soothed, combing his fingers through her silky hair. “I’ll be fine, Cat.”

Liviana rolled over onto her side and ran a critical eye over him. He did look better today than he had since they left the shrine, his complexion not nearly as wan as it had been, and she knew his work was just piling up. His lieutenants, although capable, could only do so much. “...Come here.”

“Cat-”

“Just come here,” she snapped. With a long-suffering sigh, Cullen obliged and immediately found himself wrapped back in her embrace. “Mmph,” she buried her face in his chest. 

Smiling to himself, Cullen hummed happily and kissed the top of her head. “I do need to go back to work, love.”

 _Love_. She resisted the urge to giggle like a child, but she couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across her face. _He loves me_. “I know. I just wanted a few moments before reality came back, that’s all.”

“I love you,” he murmured. Shifting down, he gently tipped up her chin so he could see her lovely face. “Maker, I can hardly believe this is real.”

“When did you know?”

“Haven,” he whispered. “Right before I sent you to your death.”

“You didn’t send me. I chose to go,” her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb idly stroking the stubble. “And I came back.”

“And I thank the Maker every day for that.” His arms locked around her as he tugged her up and leaned down, his lips softly trailing over hers. “I don’t know what I would do with you.”

“You’d survive,” she breathed, “Because anything less and I would have that necromancer raise me just so I could yell at you and beat you with my undead arms.”

“You would,” he laughed. Far more quickly that she would have thought possible, Cullen deftly flipped them both, his body pressing hers down into the bed and pulling a quiet gasp from her mouth. “Maker, I love you.”

“Cullen,” she groaned. Never before had she felt anything like this. Desire, hot and heavy in her core, churned like fire licking at the edge of her senses. She _wanted_ him, wanted to feel all of his skin against hers, to know what he tasted like, how he would sound if she took him within her mouth, her body. Her fingernails dug into his back, and he moaned into her. Shivers raced down her spine. All her years of celibacy came crashing down around her. He was her fire, and she wanted to throw herself upon the pyre. “Cullen, I… Fuck.”

“Catalina,” his voice was almost a growl. Scrounging up the last of his self-control, Cullen pulled back, his chest heaving with every breath he sucked in. “I won’t lie, I want you more than I want to breathe right now. But I want to do this right.”

“Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten?” she giggled.

“No,” he scoffed at her teasing and nipped a sharp bite along her collarbone, grinning as she squeaked. “Minx. I want to court you properly. You aren’t just some dalliance, Cat. I want to do this right. I want… more with you.”

Biting her swollen lip, she glanced away, unable to meet his molten gaze. “I don’t know if I have anything more to give. I’m just me.”

“And you is all I want. Just as you are, right here, right now. By more I mean…” He sat up and pulled her into his lap. “I want a future with you. After the Inquisition. A home, maybe even a family, I don’t know. I want things I thought were denied to me for so long, and I want them with you.”

“Cullen, I…”

“It’s too much at once, isn’t it,” he ducked his head and smiled sheepishly up at her, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not very good with words. I’m not trying to push you, or rush us into anything. I just wanted you to know, that I’m taking this- us- seriously.”

Her answering smile lit up his heart. “I would like that. A home with you sounds nice. As long as you promise it will be far away from Orlais.”

“And this is why I love you,” he chuckled, pressing another kiss against her lips.

*** 

Nothing was helping. Dagna and Dorian and Fiona had worked into the small hours of the morning, day in, day out, for weeks and nothing they found had any effect on the red lyrium within Max’s body. Slowly, steadily, it grew day by day, creating a haze that hung about him and weakened his senses until Dorian had finally gotten his time magic spell to work, and cast a sort of bubble around the growths to slow down their progress, giving them more time at least. Liviana remembered the same from the future in Redcliffe; her friends had had the same crackling crimson aura. Squeezing her eyes shut, Liviana pounded a fist against the stone wall just outside of his room.

_He can’t die from this. What am I going to do?_

Dragging her feet, Liviana trudged outside into the bright sunshine. It seemed wrong, for the day to be so lovely when her brother was dying. It should have been overcast, dark and stormy, pouring down rain not clear and cloudless. And a slight feeling of guilt hung in the back of her mind. How could she be so happy with Cullen when Max needed her so much? Oh, her brother wouldn’t fault her. He’d probably be furious if she knew the extent of her self-flagellation, but it still remained. She should have been with Max, not Cullen.

 _He loves me_. Hugging her arms around herself, Liviana slipped through the crowds that always milled about in the courtyard and out the front gate. She needed space, somewhere quiet to think where no one could find her. There was a small goat path that wound through the sparse woods that surrounded Skyhold, opposite of the valley where the rest of the army and refugees camped, that led to a small plateau. From there, she could see for leagues. A glacier lake spread out below her surrounded by the jagged snow-capped peaks of the Frostbacks. Just nothing but her and the sky. It was as close to solitude as she could get.

Hauling herself atop a large boulder, the stone worn smooth with the centuries it had weathered, Liviana sat with her knees drawn in and tucked under her chin. The weight of her brother’s future hung around her like a crushing weight, a massive millstone tied to her neck. As many times as both he and the others had reassured her that this was in no way her fault, she still could not help the guilt that enshrouded her. She knew, logically, that he would have joined the Inquisition no matter what. He wanted to help, and he was a damn good healer. Still, she should have foreseen this. Ordered him to remain at Skyhold. Something. Anything. 

A stick snapped behind her. Liviana whirled around.

“Sorry!” A young voice yelped. “I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry!”

“Rilla? Is that you?”

A dark, curly head poked out from behind a tree. “I didn’t mean to sneak on you,” the child looked as spooked as Liviana had ever seen her. “Honest, Inquisitor.”

Patting the space next to her, Liviana fixed a stern glare down at the girl. “Now, what have I told you about calling me Inquisitor, hmm?”

“Livvy,” Rilla smiled tentatively up at her. “You’re not mad, are you? I saw you come out here, and now that I think about it, you probably wanted to be alone, huh?”

“I did. But I wouldn’t mind your company. Only yours,” she added. “Come, sit. How are your brothers?”

“They’re good!” Rilla chirped as she scrambled up next to Liviana. “Arith’s ‘bout learned all his letters now, and Errol’s talking pretty good.”

“And they’re both content?”

“Yup,” she bobbed her head.

“That’s good. And what about you? Cullen’s told me what a wonderful job you’ve been doing, keeping him fed,” Liviana smiled. “I meant to tell you, I got your report and it was the best report I’ve ever read.”

“Was it really?” Rilla bounced eagerly in her spot. “Commander helped me with the spelling. I know it wasn’t as neat as yours, but I’ll get there some day, I promise.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Liviana replied. Stretching her legs out before her, she leaned back on her arms.

“Why’re you out here, anyways?” Rilla asked curiously.

“Thinking,” she sighed. “Have you heard about Max?”

“They say he’s really sick,” Rilla frowned. “Will he get better?”

“I don’t know,” Liviana murmured. “The healers and mages are working as hard as they can, but his body has a lot of bad stuff in it. And they can’t figure out how to get it out.”

Rilla thought for a moment. “Arith got really sick, from something he ate while back. The healer gave him some potion to help purge him, flush it all out. Can’t they do that with Maximus?”

“We don’t know how,” she replied wistfully.

“Oh,” her face drooped. “I wish there was a way to get rid of it. Just sort of burn it out, you know?”

“Me, too. Maker, this is-” shaking her head, Liviana glanced over. This was too heavy for Rilla to bear. She was just a child, a girl who had already lived through so much; she did not need any more heartache in her life. “It’ll be fine. We’ll find a way, somehow.” _Am I trying to convince her, or me?_

“I hope so. I like Maximus,” Rilla murmured. “He’s always nice to me, and doesn’t talk down to me like a lot of the others. Neither does the Commander. They’re my favorites.”

“They’re my favorites, too,” Liviana smiled. “Hey. I’m hungry. Are you hungry? Want to go raid the kitchens with me?”

“Can we get cookies?” she asked eagerly.

“Cookies sound perfect.”

The cook was more than happy to fix the Inquisitor and her young companion a snack, with a generous helping of cookies that they took up to Cullen’s office to share with him. Spreading a blanket on the floor, Liviana and Rilla forced Cullen to take a break and sit with them.

“So what brought this impromptu picnic on?” Cullen asked once Rilla had scampered off.

“I needed a distraction,” Liviana shrugged. “And cookies. I talked to Rilla for a bit. She’s worried about Max, too,” she blew a piece of hair from her face. “She said she wished there was a way to burn the lyrium from his body.”

 _Burn the-_ Cullen’s wide-eyed gaze snapped up. _Could it…?_

“What?” Her eyes scanned his face as the gears began visibly turning in his head.

“I have an idea.” Bolting up from the floor, Cullen hurried out of his office and down the ramparts towards the armory, where Cassandra was training by herself on the straw dummies set along the wall. “Seeker! Burn the lyrium! We could burn it out of Maxwell.”

“No,” Cassandra responded vehemently. “ _No_.”

“It could work,” he frowned. “It’s worth a try.”

“The shock from the pain could kill him,” she shook her head violently. “I will not risk it.”

“It may be his only chance. We’re running out of ideas and time, Cassandra.”

“What?” Liviana raised her chin as she skidded to a stop behind them both, her gaze narrowing as it swung between the two. “What’s the idea?”

“Seekers,” Cullen began, “Do you know of their abilities?”

“Not much,” Liviana shook her head.

“We can set the lyrium in a templar’s body on fire. Burn it all away. The ability has been known to kill people in the past, but it is always excruciating,” Cassandra added sourly. “I won’t do it.”

“This isn’t our choice to make,” Liviana replied wearily. “But if it could save him…”

“You are right,” a heavy sigh pulled Cassandra’s shoulders down. “We should be asking him.” Setting her blunted sword back into the rack, the Seeker trudged into the keep and up the stairs to the room that Maxwell had claimed for his own near the gardens. Dorian and Solas were both inside as per their normal, both of the mages checking the wards and spells they had placed over the man.

“Look,” Max weakly turned his head over to his visitors. “Cat, I’m glowing.” He wiggled his fingers at her.

“That is hardly a good thing,” Liviana grumbled, her voice lacking any real heat. Perching on the edge of his bed, she took one of his hands in her own while Cullen stayed near the door, as far from the red lyrium as he could. No crystals had broken through her brother’s skin yet, but she could see the subtle glow of his veins in his wrist and neck, where the skin was thin. “Cassandra has an idea that could remove the lyrium from you.”

“It will be painful,” Cassandra cut in brusquely, scowling down at the floor. “Excruciatingly so. It might even kill you.”

“That sounds fun,” Max glanced over at her. “Are we setting me on fire?”

“Of a sort. Seekers can burn the lyrium in templar’s veins. It’s our means of controlling, or punishing them. There aren’t any records of us doing the same to mages, but it could function the same. Or it could kill you.”

“Yes, we’ve established Max might die,” Liviana snapped, thoroughly irritated now. “He’s going to die if we don’t do anything as well!”

“Thanks, sis.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

Squeezing her hand, Max turned back towards Cassandra. “So, you burn the lyrium away in my veins?”

“Speed is an issue, too. To ensure I reach every last bit of red lyrium in your body, I will have to work more slow than usual. I’ve never controlled my speed like that before, it’s usually more akin to a Purge,” Cassandra frowned. “An instantaneous reaction. I’m not even sure it could be done.”

“I’ve perfected my time magic a bit more,” Dorian offered. “I should be able to cast a bubble around you, as it were, to slow down time around just you. Would that suffice?”

“It might,” she tilted her head in acknowledgement. “But that will just draw out his pain.”

“I might be able to devise something to help. If we can keep his consciousness in the Fade while the Seeker works, it would minimize the pain he endures,” Solas tapped one elegant finger against his cheek. “Let me consult the spirits and I will see.”

Liviana made a face at the word spirits. “Be nice,” Max tugged on her hand. “He’s trying to help.”

“I know,” she brushed back his hair from his face, trying not to wince at the jolt of the dissonant song that coursed through her at the faintest contact. “So is this something you want to try?”

“It’s the only thing we have right now, isn’t it?”

“Are you sure?” Cassandra stepped forward, her brow wrinkling with consternation.

“I know you don’t want to do this, Cass,” Max replied softly. “But it’s a chance I’m going to have to take. You’ve explained the risks. I still want to try. Otherwise…”

Her dark gaze studied him with an intensity that made Liviana blush, making her feel as if she were intruding upon a tender moment between lovers. “Very well,” Cassandra nodded just once. “I will need to meditate. And practice, I have not used this skill in some time.”

“You could practice on me,” Cullen offered.

“No,” Cassandra glared at him. “I do not need a living person to practice upon. Dorian, come. You will cast on me and I will train.”

“Of course, Seeker.”

As the rest of the people filed out of the room, Max tugged on his sister’s hand. “We should plan for the worst.”

“You’re not-”

“Anything could happen,” he chided gently. “You heard Cass. Mother and Father- I’ll need to write to them. I haven’t been sending them as many letters recently, and I doubt you’ve written them at all, have you?”

“No,” Liviana shook her head with a guilty sigh. Rising from the bed, she crossed the floor over to a desk on the far side of the room, and retrieved a few sheets of parchment, along with some ink and a quill. Setting a tray over his lap, she handed him the utensils. “Here. Or do you want me to write?”

“I can do it,” he replied quietly. “Just… If they come to visit, don’t let them see my body if it’s bad, alright?”

“Max,” Liviana choked. “I- You-”

“I know,” he smiled. “What is it that people say? Hope for the best but plan for the worst? I’ll be fine though, Kit. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I plan to grow old near you and still sneak frogs into your bed at night until we’re 70.”

“You better,” she sniffed. “Or I swear, Maxwell. I’ll… do something.”

“What, no witty rejoinder?”

“I having an off day. Shut up,” Liviana mumbled, unable to resist a small smile at the sight of his smirk. “Write your letter, you big oaf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In random news, I hit over 1 million words posted on Ao3 :O That's a lot of words.


	67. Song of the Red

It seemed as if nobles always had the worst timing, and King Alistair Theirin was no exception. The king was scheduled to arrive the day before Max’s procedure, bringing with him the promised aid for the Grey Wardens, so Liviana would be forced to play the part of Inquisitor when all she wanted to do was stay by her brother’s side all day. 

“It is rather bad timing,” Cullen agreed as he pushed the papers on his desk to one side and held out his arms. Immediately, Liviana crossed the room and let him wrap his arms around her, pressing her cheek against the plate that covered his chest. They had fallen into an easy sort of limbo these last few weeks, wherein not much changed between them. She still hid away in his office to work on her reports, and they never showed much affection when they were around others. At nights, she slept with him in his room much the same as she had in previous times, so to the casual outsider, it appeared that all was still the same. Only those close to the pair noticed the subtle shift. Casual glances, shy smiles, a blush for no apparent reason save that the other was standing near. “Can I help at all?”

“You’re helping so much as it is,” she mumbled. “Just make sure Alistair doesn’t die here on our watch and I think we’ll be fine.”

“All the added security measures are in place. I daresay he’ll be safer here than in his own palace,” Cullen huffed.

“I have no doubts.” Pulling back, Livana made a face up at him. “I just remembered Josephine wants me to stop by and look over a few letters before she sends them out. Something something something about the Nevarran treaty she’s been working on. And I’m supposed to meet Lady Morrigan right after. She apparently has something to show me. Have I mentioned I don’t like surprises from mages?”

“No. But I don’t blame you.” Cullen ducked his head as he drew her back in and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips. “I’ll have someone send word when King Alistair gets closer, love.”

“Alright.”

“Why are you smiling at me like that?”

Shrugging, unable to help the wide grin that stretched from ear to ear, Liviana simply replied, “I like it when you call me that.”

“Good. Because I like calling you that.” The warmth from his answering smile filled her with heat that radiating from her stomach to the tips of her fingers, stretching in her chest before settling into perfect contentment. Being in love may have been new to her, and relationships a foreign idea, but she liked where she was, with him, right now. It felt… comfortable. Not at all like the sweeping passion the books described, but a sense of belonging and home. It was all she ever wanted. That, and her brother to be healed.

Dragging his head back down for one more kiss, Liviana slipped out of his office and back into the main hall. She had almost made it to the door on the other side of the room before she heard Varric calling for her.

“Firefly!” he jogged up to her, waving a piece of parchment in the air. “Guess what I just got?”

“I would guess a letter?” she replied dryly.

“No shit,” he chuckled. “Here, read it.”

Taking the paper from him, Liviana quickly scanned the contents. “Oh! Hawke managed to convince Carver and Bethany to come here?”

“Yep. They should be here in another couple of weeks,” Varric beamed. “It’ll be good to have them both here.”

“It will be,” she agreed. “How is Hawke, by the way? Still in Weisshaupt?”

“He is. I think he’s sticking around up there solely to annoy the First Warden,” he grinned. 

“Poor Grey Wardens,” she shook her head. “I’ll tell Josie they’re coming, we’ll find rooms for them.”

It only took her a few minutes surprisingly enough to complete all the tasks Josephine had laid out for her, and another hour or so to investigate the ornate mirror that Lady Morrigan called an eluvian. Still reeling from having been inside the mirror, Liviana made her way to Max’s room.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” his voice croaked as she entered.

Summoning up a tiny smile for his sake, she sat down on the edge of his bed, warily eyeing the bright glow of crimson that pulsed in time with his heart just under his veins. “Lady Morrigan has something she calls an eluvian. Or the elves call it that, I suppose. It’s a- a portal, of sorts. She used magic to open it like a door, and we went inside. Inside of a fucking mirror. That’s not normal.”

“The ancient elves had all sorts of magicks that have been lost throughout the ages,” he murmured. “Because of us. Fucking humans.”

“Yeah. How are you feeling?”

“Bored. Tired. I’m ready for this to all over with, one way or another,” he sighed.

“Max…”

“You know I’m hoping for the best, Kit,” Max squeezed her hand. 

“I know,” she whispered. “I just… I’m sorry I haven’t been by much these last few days.”

“You’re the Inquisitor,” turning his head so he could fully look at her, Max smiled, the hollows of his eyes and sunken cheeks even more pronounced now. “You’re a very busy woman. And I can’t imagine my condition makes it particularly comfortable for anyone, especially you. How are you and Cullen?”

“We’re… good. As good as we can be right now. He’s- I’m- I don’t even know how to word it,” she admittedly ruefully. “Feelings aren’t my strong point.”

“He makes you happy, though?”

Biting her lip, she nodded. “He does. It feels right. Like I’m supposed to be with him.”

“I’m just glad you finally see it,” he chuckled softly. “Maker, I thought you’d never figure it out. Varric and I had a friendly bet on how long it’d take you to realize you loved him. We both lost. You lasted far longer than either of us thought possible. By the way, you owe me five sovereigns.”

Liviana snorted. “How do I owe you money when I wasn’t even in on the bet?”

“It’s the rules,” he shrugged. 

“Those are horrible rules. So I’ve noticed Cassandra has been spending all of her free time in here.” Leaning over, Liviana tapped the end of his nose lightly. “Reeling her in with your pitiful charms?”

“Hey, it’s working,” Max grinned, his smile fading to a wistful sort of dreamy expression. “She’s so great, Cat. She mostly just reads to me when she’s in here, and we talk about, well, everything. How one person can be so beautiful and smart and wonderful at the same time, I don’t even know.”

“I mean, you have met me.”

“That’s exactly why I’m wondering.”

“Brat,” she giggled. 

A soft knock echoed at the door. “Inquisitor?” A muffled voice called. “The king’s banner has been spotted just over the next rise.”

“I’m coming,” Liviana called back.

“King Alistair is here?” Max asked. “I should like to meet him, I think. I’ve never met a king.”

“You and he would get along fantastically,” Liviana smoothed back his hair, the unruly waves refusing to behave as usual. “He has a terrible sense of humor as well. I’ll ask him, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind coming in to say hi.”

“Better get going, Kit,” Max’s eyes searched her face for a moment, gripping her hand tightly to prevent her from leaving despite his words. “...I love you. I think if I could’ve chosen anyone in the world to be my sister, it would have been you. You’re my best, most annoyingest friend ever.”

“That’s not a word,” Liviana ducked her head down to wipe away the gathering tears.

“Is now.”

“I love you, too, Maximilian,” she pressed a kiss to his clammy brow. “I’ll be back later with Alistair, alright?”

Patting her hair to make sure she still looked neat and presentable, Liviana tugged her tunic and coat back into order as she strolled through the corridors towards the courtyard. Funny now the things she thought of. Her appearance had never been a source of concern for her, but ever since she lived with her mother, and now under Lady Montilyet’s purview, Liviana took much more care with her personal appearance. She longed for the days where she could just throw on the first tunic and breeches she found and head out the door. 

The other advisors already were assembled when she finally reached the courtyard. Nodding to the guards as she passed, she took up a formal stance in front of the rest, her hands lightly clasped behind her back as the heralds announced the arrival of the King of Ferelden.

“Your Majesty,” Liviana bowed as he swung himself down from his mount, another man in the blue and silver of the Wardens dismounting behind him. “The Inquisition welcomes you to Skyhold.”

“Thank you for hosting me and mine, Inquisitor,” Alistair returned her bow with a cheeky grin. “Maker, I can’t believe this place has been here for centuries without anyone realizing it,” his neck craned back to get a better look. The man behind him cleared his throat, and Alistair jumped and blushed. “Oh! Right. Introductions. Um, may I present the Constable of the Grey of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, Nathaniel Howe?”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Warden Howe,” Liviana inclined her head. “Shall we take this inside?”

“Of course, of course. Leliana! You’re looking as lovely and scary as ever.”

“And you haven’t changed one bit, Alistair,” Leliana laughed as she pulled the king in for a hug. “Except perhaps you are more handsome now than you were. Lucky Elissa.”

“Well, ah,” Alistair stammered as the ladies all giggled. “And this must be the poor Commander, stuck at the mercy of the fiercest ladies in Thedas every day.”

“Oh, I rather think our Commander likes being at the Inquisitor’s mercy,” Leliana snickered, Josephine hiding behind her clipboard in an attempt to mask her own mirth.

“Leliana,” Liviana hissed. “That’s- Stop it!”

“You know you’re just encouraging her,” Cullen drawled, shaking his head. “Well met, Your Majesty.”

Running a critical eye over the former Knight-Captain, Alistair nodded his head, evidently pleased by what he saw. “You look well, Rutherford.”

“I am,” Cullen smiled. “Much improved since the last time you saw me, I dare say.”

“Kirkwall did no one any favors,” Alistair’s chuckle was dark and grim. “So, Nathaniel here is Elissa’s second. He’s been in the Deep Roads for quite awhile now, so thank the Maker he missed the Clarel fiasco.”

“The Deep Roads? For that long?” Liviana stared at the man. “I do not envy you.”

“I was following up on another lead,” Nathaniel replied. “With scarce results. But yes, while I complained about it at the time, it seems I got the better end of the bargain. His Majesty filled me in on what I missed when I came topside. So with your permission, Inquisitor, I can assume leadership of the Grey Wardens from here on out. Until Her Majesty returns, that is.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “The Wardens have sorely missed their senior leadership. We’ve done what we can, but,” she shrugged. “It’s not the same, I’m sure.”

“We’ve had Lieutenant Penelope Randall leading them in the meantime,” Cullen added. “She’s not a Warden, but she fought at the Battle of Denerim during the Blight, and she knows how to fight darkspawn. She’s a skilled soldier, and a more than capable woman.”

“Excellent,” Alistair nodded. “So when’s supper? I’m starved. What?”

Ignoring Leliana’s snort, Liviana motioned off to the side for a few servants to step forward. “Supper will be in two more bells, but I can have something brought up to your rooms in the meantime. We have a small meal planned for tonight, nothing terribly fancy I’m afraid. The official feast will be held before you leave, our lovely ambassador insisted upon it. Tonight, I’m… going to be rather poor company,” she sighed.

“Oh?” Searching her face, Alistair’s gaze flickered from her to the others. “Is something amiss?”

“Maxwell Trevelyan,” Cullen answered when it became apparent that she was unable, or unwilling. “Liviana’s brother, he is… sick. Red lyrium,” his voice was soft and quiet. “We have an experimental procedure scheduled for tomorrow, so we are all a bit out of sorts until then.”

“He mentioned he’d like to meet you,” Liviana murmured. “You share much of the same humor as he.”

“I like him already,” Alistair smiled gently. “Let me change out of my travel clothes, and I would be honored to meet him. Anything for the woman who saved my life. And is saving all of Ferelden. And Thedas. Maker, at this rate, they should make you king, not me.”

“Andraste’s tits, no,” Liviana protested to Josephine’s dismay. “That is a horrible idea.”

“Probably,” Alistair laughed as Nathaniel fought to hide his own smile. “With a mouth like that, the bannorn would come after you in a heartbeat.”

“He hasn’t changed much at all,” Cullen watched as the two men disappeared off through a side door. “We trained together, as templar recruits.”

“I didn’t know that,” Liviana raised an eyebrow. “Were you friends?”

“I suppose?” he scratched at the back of his neck. “He was forever getting into trouble, and I was so absorbed in my studies, that we didn’t interact much. But we were friendly towards each other.”

“He’s a nice man,” Liviana smiled. “And a good king, by all accounts.”

“He is,” Cullen agreed. “I have to get back for a meeting. See you this evening?”

Smiling shyly up at him, she just nodded, all too aware of the people that milled closely about them. It wasn’t that she was afraid, or ashamed in any way. And luckily, Cullen was a private person by nature, so he did not question it. It was just that everything was still so new to her, and she preferred for them to progress at their own pace, without the pressure and interference from the rest of the world. She gave the people most of herself; she wanted her relationship to be Cullen theirs, and theirs alone. Turning away as he left the main hall, Liviana headed up into the corridors to find the king.

“Your Majesty?” She knocked at the solid wood door. “It’s Liviana.”

Pulling the door open, Alistair mock scowled down at her. “Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten my name?”

“Alistair,” she amended with a smile. “Are you ready?” Even here, in his capacity as king and ruler of Ferelden, his clothes were much the same as they had been a few years ago in Antiva. The cloth was of a fine cut and material, but precious little embroidery and adornment marked the fabric. He might have passed for a well to do merchant, or a lesser bann, instead of the royalty he was. 

“I am,” he nodded.

“His room is just a few doors down,” she motioned for him to follow. Ordering his guards to remain behind, much to their dismay, Alistair obediently trotted after the Inquisitor to a nondescript door at the end of the hall, and pushed it open at the call from within.

“Your Majesty. I would rise, but I fear if I did, I would just swoon and fall at your feet,” Max smiled apologetically.

“That could be fun,” Alistair grinned back, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I haven’t had anyone swooning at my feet lately. So, you are Liviana’s brother? Well met, Lord Trevelyan.”

“Oh Maker,” Max’s eyes goggled as Liviana snickered. “No, no no no. I’m just Max. Well, former Enchanter Trevelyan, but since the Circles don’t exist anymore, just plain old Max, Your Majesty.”

“Alistair, please,” he took a seat in a chair that was near the bed. “You know, pardon me for saying this, but you’re not nearly as scary as your sister. I always pictured her family to be other versions of her.”

“No,” Max chuckled. “She’s the scary one. I’m the handsome and charming one.”

“I would agree, but like I said, your sister is scary.”

“Oh for-” Liviana sighed. “I’m going to regret introducing you to each other, aren’t I?”

“Probably,” Alistair grinned.

***

“Don’t let my sister in here.”

“Dammit, Max!” Liviana shouted. “Don’t you _dare_ -”

Still ignoring her, Max spoke to Cassandra and Cullen. “If everything goes to shit, she doesn’t need to see it. She carries enough guilt on her conscience as it is, despite what everyone tells her, and she has enough nightmares already. Don’t let her in.”

“I am the fucking Inquisitor,” Liviana growled. She had never before used her rank in such a way, but she would be damned if her brother meant to keep her out of the room now.

“Of course,” Cullen nodded to Maxwell. “Cat-”

“ _No_ ,” Liviana snarled at them both. “Max-”

“Cat, please,” Max’s soft voice cut straight through her heart. “For me, I don’t- I don’t want you to see this. Please?”

“Fenhedis,” her shoulders sank. “If that is what you wish.”

“I love you, Kitty Cat,” he reached out a shaky hand to take hers, and she winced at how much louder the song was now. 

“I love you, too, Maximus.” Spending one last moment soaking up her brother’s presence, her gaze lingering and wistful as she studied him, Liviana turned and exited the room, Cullen close on her heels.

“I’m sorry,” he offered after they had walked some ways.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. Pausing, she turned to lean against the wall in the empty hallways, her head leaning back to thud against the cold stone. 

“I’ve got some work to finish up,” Cullen cupped her cheek in one palm. “Keep me company?”

Mutely nodding, she let him lead her up to his office, taking her customary chair in the corner with a random book as he settled behind his desk. The minutes passed with agonizing slowness, every candlemark that burned down like a physical knife being slowly lowered into her flesh. She couldn’t concentrate on anything. All she could think of was Max. Lost in the memories of the past, she smiled as she remember when they were children, rolling around in the dirt with him, forever bickering and scuffling to their mother’s dismay. Maker, she had been a brat. And so had he. And then, that day in the Gallows, when she laid eyes on him for the first time in forever. How relieved she had been to find out he was still the same, upright, annoying Maximus he had always been. Her brother, her best friend. She couldn’t lose him. _Fenhedis, why is it taking so long? Surely it would be over by now. Unless something went wrong. Unless he-_

“Inquisitor!” A messenger burst into the office, his gaze frantically searching for her. “Enchanter Trevelyan, he-”

Liviana did not wait for the man to finish. Instantly springing off her chair, she shot out of the room and sprinted through the keep, dodging and darting between the people who stood in her way, not daring to even breathe until she skidded to a stop in front of his door. “Max?!”

The door swung open, revealing a very worn Solas, his ears drooped and eyes heavy. “Inquisitor,” a tiny, sad smile crossed his lips, and she almost fainted. “It worked. Somewhat.”

“What do you mean? Where is he? Max? Max!” Shoving past the elf, Liviana rushed into the room. “Max!”

“Hey Kit,” her brother rasped. “Look, I’m alive still!”

The song was gone. Where there had been a grating melody, always lurking and lingering in the air, there was now only blessed silence. “Max,” she sobbed as she threw herself upon him. “You’re okay, you’re _okay_ -”

“Sort of,” he wheezed. “You’re crushing me.”

“Sorry,” she scrambled off of him. He looked exhausted, which was expected, dark circles lingering under his eyes, his ashen cheeks gaunt and sunken from the toll his illness had taken on him these last few weeks. But he was alive. And the glow of the red lyrium was gone from his skin. Leaving only- “Wait. Your veins, I can still- What is this?” Lifting up his wrist, she frowned as her thumb stroked over the skin there. “It’s… black?”

“The Blight,” Dorian replied quietly. “We managed to get the red lyrium out, but as you know, Dagna discovered that red lyrium is just regular lyrium tainted with the Blight. So the lyrium is gone, but the Blight remains.”

“No,” she whispered. “It can’t be. Wait. Elissa. The Hero of Ferelden, she’s searching for a cure for the Taint right now. She’ll find something, she has to! Do you know if this-” Liviana swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in her throat- “Which version of the Blight sickness this is?”

Max patted her arm. “I still have a few years left in me. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“And I can slow down the progression even further,” Dorian added.

“I’ll get some researchers to devote their studies entirely to the Blight,” Liviana promised. “We have some of the best minds in Thedas, and access to whatever materials we need. If Queen Elissa can’t find anything, we will.”

“See, I figured I could just you and Cassandra to yell at my tainted blood and that would probably scare it away,” he chuckled weakly. Cassandra huffed a snort behind him.

“We’ll keep that in mind as a backup plan,” Liviana said dryly, shaking her head. “I’ll let you get some rest, now. I’m sure the rest of you need it as well. Thank you. All of you, I- Thank you.” Her voice thickened with emotion.

“It was our honor, Inquisitor,” Solas offered her a little bow and slipped out of the room.

“I think I will stay, for a little while longer,” Cassandra lowered herself down into a plush chair opposite Max’s bed. 

“I’ll have a tray sent up for you both,” Liviana smiled as the Seeker’s face softened as Max reached out to take her hand. “You two are just too precious. Altus- Did he leave already?”

Rising from the bed, Liviana exited the room, her head swiveling from side to side until she spotted the mage near the end of the hall. “Pavus,” her voice rang out through the quiet corridor, the sound harsh upon her ears. Lifting her gaze when he paused and turned, she took a deep breath and met his eyes. “I owe you an apology. I-”

“No no,” Dorian hastily interrupted. “You don’t owe me a thing, Inquisitor, I-”

“Shut up,” she growled. “And let me say this.”

“Ah,” he swallowed delicately. “Alright.”

Frowning, she carefully wrapped her arms around her middle and bit her lower lip. “I haven’t been fair to you. I know you are not the sum of your countrymen, and yet I treated you as such. I am sorry. Truly. It was wrong of me. You’ve been nothing but helpful to the Inquisition, to me, since the first day we met. After all, if you hadn’t shown me those maps that night,” her voice grew quiet. “I might never have made it out of Tevinter. You helped me when we were trapped in the Fade. And without your help today, my brother-” she choked up again. “My brother. You saved him from a fate worse than death, and you are still aiding him. I will forever be in your debt. Yet again.”

“That is what you meant by a life for a life, when we first met,” he realized. “That night, the maps, you-”

“I used what you showed me to escape,” she replied quietly. “Without your help, I would not have known where to go. I might have headed the wrong and been killed, or worse.”

“I am glad you were not,” Dorian smiled. “And if you can just make Corypheus go away, I’ll consider all debts repaid."

Exhaling, she nodded. “That, I can do.” Her boot ground against the stone as she turned back around, and paused. “Cullen said you play chess with him sometimes?”

“I do,” he replied curiously.

“Maybe, after you get some rest… Would you care to play a game with me?”

His smile grew larger and more warm. “I would be honored. Don’t expect I’ll go easy on you though, just because you’re the Inquisitor.”

“I would expect nothing less, Altus Pavus. Besides, Cullen says you cheat anyways,” she smirked.

“The nerve of that man,” he huffed without any heat. “And it’s Dorian, please. Altus Pavus sounds so dreary.”

“Liviana.”

Inclining his head, Dorian left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeyyyy Max is ok! Kinda! And I'm back! Yaayyy lol.


	68. By the Light of the Moons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

“Long day?”

Two fingers pressed into her temple in an attempt to relieve the pressure and ache she felt within. Without bothering to glance up, Liviana sighed and threw her quill down upon her desk. “The longest.”

“You missed supper.” Ascending the rest of the way into her room, Cullen laid down a tray upon a table. “Do I need to get Rilla to look after you as well?”

“No,” she scoffed. “I just lost track of time.”

“I talked to Maxwell. He seems to be in high spirits,” he smiled as he crossed over to where she sat.

“Alistair gave him another option, if a cure isn’t found within a year. The Joining, for the Grey Wardens, it would save him,” she muttered. “I know it’s an honor, and that the Wardens are a necessity but after the disaster at Adamant, I just- It just seems like there’s no good way out. Not to mention that the ritual to make him a Warden might kill him as well.” Liviana paused. “But that part is supposed to be secret.”

“Is Alistair divulging Warden secrets again? For shame.” Taking a seat on the sofa, Cullen draped one arm around the back of the chair, an invitation that Liviana immediately took. Abandoning her work, she made her way to him and sat down, curling herself into his side. The warmth from his body combined with the cracking hearth seeped into her skin and she sighed in relative contentment.

“Mm. I had a hope, that after all of this was over and done with, Max and I could remain close to each other,” she mumbled into his shirt. “The same town, or country at the very least, within a few days ride. But if he becomes a Warden, I might go months, or longer without seeing him again.”

“Queen Elissa is a very resourceful woman. I’m sure she’ll find a cure. After all, Alistair and her own future are riding on it. Don’t fret, love.”

Liviana shook her head with a wry grin. “You, of all people, telling me not to fret. Oh the irony, Ser Mother Hen. But I suppose I can’t do anything to help right now. Leliana and Josephine are scouring all of Thedas for more scholars to aid in Dagna’s research. Figuring out those lyrium tools we got from Samson has first priority right now, obviously, but finding a cure for Blight sickness is next on her list.”

“She is a genius,” Cullen agreed. “If a little… unorthodox. And with a penchant for making things explode.”

“She is. So did Max tell you who is coming for a visit?”

“No,” he glanced down at her at the hint of a whine in her voice. “Who?”

“Our parents,” Liviana scowled at the fire. “They should be here in two weeks or so.”

Cullen paled a bit in the golden glow of the hearth. “...Oh?”

“To see Max, obviously,” she sighed, ignorant of the nerves rising in the man next to her. “But I know they’re curious about the Inquisition, and what I’ve been up to. And my mother probably wants to know if I’m sullying the family name in some way, shape, or form.”

“You have done only good things,” he chided her. “They will be nothing but proud of you.”

“You don’t know my parents,” she mumbled. “Did you- were we- should I tell them? About us?”

“Only if you want to, love.” His own reticence about meeting Lord and Lady Trevelyan was no matter. It was an age old sentiment, shared by every person who ever met the parents of the one they were in love with. Would they like him? Would they approve of him? He knew only Liviana’s opinion of him truly mattered, and Maxwell liked him well enough for all that he used to be a templar, but he still desperately hope her parents would also accept him. He was the Commander of the Inquisition, after all. And the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. Surely that would hold some weight with the nobles. _I’m being ridiculous. I don’t want my rank to impress them. They will like me, or they will not. Such silliness. But still…_

“I think I do,” a wicked grin spread across her face. “I want to see my mother’s face when I tell her I’ve chosen the son of a farmer instead of a man with a fancy pedigree.”

“Oh, Maker,” he groaned. “This is going to be lovely.”

Giggling, she tilted her face up at him, her dark gray eyes shining in the flickering light as she peered up at him. “Speaking of family, have you written Mia back? I know you got a letter from her recently.”

Cullen grimaced at the reminder. His sister had been most put out when he had not written after Haven’s fall, and thought him dead. And his following correspondence had been somewhat lacking in detail as well, a fact that his sister pointed out with her usual acerbic wit. “No. Maker, she’s going to kill me.”

“I think I like her,” Liviana giggled. “Any woman that has you so terrified is definitely high on my list.”

“You are most gracious,” he retorted dryly. “I will write her back tomorrow.”

“You haven’t seen them in a long time, have you?”

“No,” one hand idly played with the hem of her tunic, his calloused thumb brushing against the soft skin of her shoulder. “Not since I left for training when I was thirteen. I suppose when this mess with Corypheus is over with, I should go see them. With you. That is, if you want to go.”

“Me?” Liviana squeaked.

“Well, I am about to meet your entire family,” he nudged her and grinned at her wide-eyed expression. “It seems only fair that you meet mine eventually.”

Liviana had met many people over her lifetime. Most, she did not care if they liked her. She had a job to do, and as long as that job got done, she was satisfied. The friends she had made over the years enjoyed her company for who she was. But now, thinking about meeting his siblings… she found that she did care. Very, very much so. “...Do they know about me? About… who I was?” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper.

“They know what the rest of Thedas knows, I suppose,” he thought for a moment. “Nothing too detailed. I’ll leave it to you to tell them as much as you’re comfortable with, Cat. If I know my family though, they won’t think any less of you because of your past. If anything, it would just lift you in their regards of you.”

“Yes, but you don’t know that for sure. What if they don’t think I’m good enough for you? What if they hate me? What if-”

“Hey.” Cutting into her downward spiral, Cullen cupped one cheek in his hand and nuzzled her face with his nose. “I love you. You make me happy. And family only ever wants their loved ones to be happy.”

Fiddling with a loose thread, not one to be persuaded so easily, she frowned. “My mother never really cared about my happiness. Only status.”

“That’s because she is a noble,” he replied with the slightest bit of heat. “My family are all simple common folk, just like me. We have the luxury of doing things for our own happiness, you know.”

“Mm,” humming under her breath, she snuggled in closer to his side. “Well, I happen to prefer common folk. Especially you.”

“Oh?” His lips curled up in a smirk as he drew her into his lap, her legs straddling his thighs. “Just prefer?”

Tapping a finger against her chin, Liviana considered him for a moment with that familiar mischievous glint in her eye. “Fond of, perhaps is a more apt word. Tolerate? Endure?”

“Why you little-” With a playful growl, he swept her up into his arms, his fingers roaming up the sides of her ribs, eliciting the shrillest shriek he had ever heard from her mouth.

“Cullen!” she gasped, trying to twist away from his hands. “Don’t you dare! Ah! That tickles!”

“It’s what you get,” he chuckled as he relented. “You love me.”

“I do, you insufferable templar,” she huffed. Pulling herself back upright, Liviana settled back into his lap and pressed her face into the crook of his neck, her arms securely wrapped around his neck. “Maker knows why.”

“I’m not sure He even knows,” Cullen smiled as he gently stroked her spine, feeling her relax into him more and more by the second. And groaned, as she nipped the sensitive skin of his neck with her teeth. “Cat…”

Giggling, she pulled back with that same impish smile on her face. “Yes, love?”

“And you say I’m insufferable,” he huffed. Sliding his hands up her back, he pressed between her shoulderblades and drew her in closer, his lips searching for hers.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she melted back into him. Her fingers drifted higher to tangle in his blonde hair, teasing the curls free of the pomade’s hold. That heavy tension she had come to expect every time they kissed like this, still strange and unfamiliar, coiled in her belly and inadvertently, she shifted in his lap, searching for relief. And gasped, as she felt herself brush up against his rising erection.

“Sorry,” Cullen muttered into her mouth. “I didn’t mean to- _Cat_.”

She smiled against his lips as she repeated the motion, pulling the sweetest moan from his throat. Cullen was waiting on her, like the perfect gentleman he was. Waiting until she knew that he wanted more than just sex from her. But she had known that from the start. He was her best friend, the man she loved, and she wanted more of him. “I want you,” Liviana whispered. “Please?”

Struggling for breath, Cullen leaned back and studied her, searching her expression for any sign of hesitance. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I’ve been about anything.” Her hair brushed against his arms as she trailed her lips over his cheek, gently exhaling into his ear. “I want you, Cullen.”

A heartbeat passed, and suddenly she found herself lifted into the air, his hands solid and bracing under her ass, his feet steadily carrying her towards the bed. With a giggle, she landed in the pile of soft blankets, her body bouncing slightly against the firm mattress. That smug smirk that both infuriated her and set her blood racing smiled back down at her as he crawled up the length of her legs. Ducking his head down, he kissed a line up the outside of her calves, her breeches muffling the sensation. 

“What are you doing?”

“Worshipping you properly,” he murmured as he reached the bones of her hips. His eyes, dark and reverent, stared up at her. “Like you deserve to be.”

“Cullen,” Liviana flushed, “You don’t need to do this.”

“But I want to. Please? Let me take care of you, Catalina.” His voice sent shivers racing down her spine, her toes tingling with anticipation. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

“I already know, silly man,” she smiled.

“No,” he chuckled darkly. “I really don’t think you do.”

“Well then,” grabbing the edge of her tunic, Liviana yanked the garment over her head and shimmied out of her leggings, throwing both off to the side. “Show me how I’m wrong?”

“Gladly,” Cullen groaned as he took in the sight of her bare chest, his gaze hungrily devouring the way the firelight danced off her sun-kissed skin. It was a sight he had seen before, on several occasions, but now- Now he was allowed to touch her, to taste her, in all the ways he had tried to stop himself from dreaming about. “Cat- You’re not wearing a breastband.”

“No,” she smirked up at him. “I’m not.”

The sound he made was caught somewhere between a moan and a growl, almost feral. His hands, warm and rough, were suddenly everywhere, petting, gripping, teasing, his heart hammering a staccato against his ribs with such force, Cullen thought he might faint. Reveling in the way her breath hitched as his fingers skimmed the edge of her smalls across her abdomen, Cullen lowered his head to her collarbone, drawing little swirls against her heated flesh with his tongue. “You are- Perfect,” he sighed as his mouth drifted lower, lower, stopping just above the pebbled flesh of her nipple. 

Liviana giggled nervously. How many years had passed since she had been intimate with another? And to actually want the man that hovered above her, to yearn for his touch- she had never experienced the like. But she would be damned if she would be a coward in this. Her own hands swept over his broad chest, and she tugged at the soft linen of his shirt. “Off,” she demanded.

Cullen willingly acquiesced to her will, and shrugged out of his clothes, leaving him as bare as she was, only the thin layer of his smalls preserving his modesty. “Better?”

“Much,” she sighed, softly tracing once finger along a particularly wicked scar along his left shoulder. “This- ah!” Arching her back, she gasped as he drew her hardened nipple into his mouth without any preamble, his tongue hot and rough, his lips firm and seeking. “Cullen,” she whimpered at the sharp jolt of pleasure that shot down her into her core.

“Yes, love?”

Words failed her as she felt his finger lightly trace up her seam, her smalls already wet with her arousal. With his mouth on her breast and his hand lightly teasing between her thighs, Cullen gently eased her into her burning desire, fanning the flames until she was sure that she was on actual fire. Sweat beaded against her brow. Jerking her hips upward, she felt him smile on her chest, and his hands slide her smalls down and off to leave her completely bare. “Cullen,” she whispered his name like a prayer.

“Catalina,” his graveled voice replied. Dark amber eyes blown open with lust devoured her fevered form, his gaze raking her over the coals. “Let me taste you.” Unable to form a response, it was all she could do to simply nod.

It felt strange to take such a passive role, far more used to giving pleasure than receiving it. She should have been terrified, or at least apprehensive, to feel this vulnerable with another person. But this was Cullen. And that made all the difference. She had once had magisters bidding hundreds of sovereigns to have a chance at an evening with her, yet she had never felt more desired or valued than at this very moment.

Fingers dug into her hipbones, arms corded with muscle wrapped securely around her legs, hot breath flitted across her most sensitive parts. Liviana gasped. Arching her back, she cried out as he leaned in, and licked. She shivered. A single digit slid traced along the edges of her slick folds and slipped in right as lips latched firmly around her clit, and sucked. Pleasure like she never imagined exploded through her senses, her entire world narrowing to just him. Through her haze, she heard him groan, sounds beyond obscene filling her ears, pleas falling from her lips like honey as his fingers searching within her for the place that would make her see stars.

“Fuck,” Cullen muttered as he felt her walls spasm around his fingers. Through it all, his eyes never left her face, watching as her desire played out across her face. Maker’s breath, but she was beautiful. Especially like she was now, her eyes heavily-lidded, her breaths heaving with every gasp of air, and that smile, oh that smile- “I told you my skills with peaches were perfectly adequate.”

A bright peal of laughter fell from her lips. “More than adequate, I would say,” Liviana grinned down at him. “Come here.”

Obediently, Cullen crawled up the length of her body, bracing his arms on either side of her head. “I love you. Did you know that?”

“You may have hinted at it a few times,” her eyes sparkled in the soft moonlight that filtered in through the glass.

“Just making sure. I think the fire died,” craning his neck back to check, Cullen suddenly found all the air had fled the room as a small, gentle hand firmly cupped the heavy bulge in his smalls . “Maker’s br- _Cat_ -”

“The fire can wait,” she purred, shifting up onto her knees. Her sweet, adoring gaze turned into something infinitely more predatory, and Cullen swallowed. “I have another idea about how we can stay warm until then.” 

Pouncing, Liviana latched onto him and deftly twisted them in mid-air, Cullen landing against the bed with a quiet, “Oof.”

“Off,” she demanded imperiously, scowling down and tugging pointedly at the last barrier that remained between them.

“So bossy,” chuckling as he obliged, he hissed as she raked her nails down his chest with a throaty giggle, her gaze disjointed and suddenly vacant. _Wait. Something’s not right-_ “Cat-”

“Shh,” her sultry voice made his blood turn sluggish. “I’ve got you, handsome.” 

Something had changed. Her tone, her entire attitude. Jerking up from the bed, Cullen caught her wrist in a tight grip. “Catalina. Look at me.” 

It took her a moment for her eyes to refocus on him, a slight frown tugging at her lips. “What… Oh.” 

“Are you still with me?” he asked quietly. 

Her gaze dropped to the blanket as her cheeks flushed with shame. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t- I don’t- It was... habit.” From back when she was just another whore and slave. Separating herself from the reality of her life had been the only way she knew how to cope with the present. But now... 

“It’s alright,” Cullen smoothed back her hair. “We don’t have to do anything else tonight." 

“But I want to,” she bit her lip, her voice barely a whisper. “I want you, and I’ve never wanted anyone like how I want you right now, but I don’t know how to separate the slave I was with just being me. I don’t want it to be just an act with you, but I’m not sure how to make it _real_.” 

“It’s already real. You are real, and so is this.” Taking her hands in his, Cullen pressed tiny kisses to each of her knuckles. “I’ve got an idea.” His touch was tender upon her back, pulling her down onto the sheets to lay on her side next to him, lightly skimming over the scars that littered her body. “Look at me, please? There you are,” he smiled as her gaze found his again. 

“Hi.” She flicked at an errant curl upon his forehead. 

Tugging her hips in closer to his, he trailed a line of kisses up the smooth column of her neck, each one placed carefully next to the last. “Is this helping?” 

“Yes,” she breathed into his caresses. No one had ever touched her with as much care as he, and it did help to ground her to the reality of just him. “Fuck,” she let her head fall back to give him more access and draped one leg over his thighs. 

“Still with me?” 

“Always.” Keeping her eyes locked with his searing gaze, Liviana found herself enraptured in the moment with him, unable to tear herself away even if she had wanted to. Letting him roll her over onto her back with the tenderest of care, she smiled up at him, memorizing every hair and scar that marked his face. This was Cullen. The man she loved. She _wanted_ this, wanted him, more than she had ever wanted anyone or anything in her entire life. And as her awareness of him settled into her skin, she suddenly found that it was a simple matter to keep herself with him and just feel. Feel as he cradled her cheek in his hand, her chest expanding near to bursting as he entered her in one smooth thrust. Feel his forehead pressed against her, so close, so near, their breaths mingling as they softly panted together, his hands almost fumbling, nervous, yet gentle, encouraging her to find her release yet again. Maker, she would have sworn that there was nothing more beautiful in the entirety of Thedas than the vision of him hovering above her as he found his own end, buried deep inside of her, his moan and her whispered name shattering the stillness of the night. _Catalina._ He was the only one who called her that. That was how she knew she was here, with the man she loved, the only one she had ever wanted. _Catalina._

“Are you alright?” 

And she laughed. Soft, yet bright, and clear as a bell. “I am perfect. _You_ are perfect.” 

“I would beg to differ under normal circumstances, but I think I’ll just agree for now,” he murmured sleepily, relaxing above her. 

“Agreeing with me?” Liviana giggled as she brushed back the sweaty mess of curls from his brow. “We should do this more often, if sex makes you that compliant. Maybe next time I go fight a dragon, we’ll have sex first, and then when I tell you-” 

“Don’t press your luck, Lady Invincible Cockroach,” he nuzzled the crook of her neck. 

“Now there’s a name that just begs to be set into a romantic poem.” 

Chuckling, Cullen slipped free from her and leaned over the bed to grab a spare shirt, and cleaned them both off. “I never made any claims to be a wordsmith. Besides, you’re one to talk. Ser Stick is hardly original.” 

“It is an excellent name. Sera thinks it’s hilarious.” 

“Sera thinks bees drawn with arses are hilarious. Your standards and judgement capabilities are worrisome, my lady.” 

“You should be concerned, then, seeing as how I chose to love you.” 

“I would wonder,” he grinned. “But I’m far too grateful for your love to tempt the fates by questioning it.” 

“Sap." 

“Rude.” 

Liviana giggled once more as she pulled the blanket up over them both, her mirth fading into a contented hum as she curled into him. Just the simple feel of his skin on hers was enough to allay any lingering doubts she might have had. His arms wrapped securely around her, his breaths soft and steady in her ear, his heartbeat slow and strong against her lips. With him, she was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeyyy! So everyone in my household is taking turns being sick, and real life is kicking me down hard. Writing has taken a backseat to sleep, so updates are going to be more sporadic, but I'm hoping to stick to at least once a week. I do have like 9 more chapters written, but I need to go back and rewrite several sections to make them more true to the characters and story. Thank you for sticking with me so far! And I hope you enjoyed the smut hehe


	69. The Bann and Lady of Ostwick

Leaning against the wall, Liviana let her head fall back onto the roughly hewn stone, her eyes searching the high vaulted ceilings above. She had had such a lovely morning, the warmth of Cullen's touch still lingering in the back of her mind, only to be urgently summoned from her chamber by Vivienne, and then Leliana at Josephine's reluctant behest to rush to Val Royeaux and back. “I know you want to do this the right way, Josephine, but every moment we wait is another moment the House of Repose has to strike. Barring the fact that the Inquisition needs you, I would be quite put out if you were to be assassinated while waiting for court approval. Especially when there is a much simpler suggestion in front of us.”

“I do not want any lives taken because of me,” the Antivan replied with a heavy sigh. “But I see you already have your mind made up, and I am outnumbered.”

“This is for the best, Josie,” Leliana reassured her friend. “My people know what they’re doing.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Josephine replied crisply. “Very well. If I cannot sway you from your decision, so be it.”

A glance and a nod from the Inquisitor was all Leliana needed. “It will be done. So, I heard Duke Bastien is dead?”

“Yes,” Liviana blew a slight breath out. “The potion with that wyvern’s heart I got for Vivienne awhile back was finally ready, so I accompanied her to administer it. I did not realize she cared for him so much,” she murmured softly. The trip had changed her view of the mage and First Enchanter. Vivienne was ruthless in her own way, but she had done what was necessary in order to survive in the world she found herself in. And Liviana could not fault her for that, not when she understood her motives so well. “She will be remaining at the De Ghislain estate until the funeral arrangements are completed. Should we send something to the family? Is that something nobles do?”

“I will arrange to have a token of our sentiments delivered,” Josephine made a note. “And everything is set for your parents arrival.”

“I believe the scouts reported seeing their entourage at the bottom of the pass this morning, so they should be here either this evening, or possibly tomorrow morning,” Leliana chimed in. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Commander.”

“Hmm? Oh,” Cullen glanced up from the map he had been glaring at for the last few minutes. “Just… thinking.”

“Meeting the parents,” the spymaster teased. “Such a momentous occasion, no?”

“I’m sure Lord and Lady Trevelyan will have better things to do than pass the time with me,” he replied stiffly. “If that is all for today?”

Liviana caught the edge of his bracer as the others filed out of the war room. “Are you nervous, Cullen?”

Pausing to glance down at her, he reached up to touch the back of his neck, that telltale sign giving away more than his words. “...A bit. It is as you mentioned before, your mother is very much a lady, and I am just the son of a farmer. I know you love me, and don’t care about such things, but I would like for your parents to at least mildly tolerate me.”

“I have a feeling they’ll adore you, title or no,” Liviana smiled up at him. “My father especially, he doesn’t put as much stock in nobility as my mother does. And you know my family has close ties with the Chantry, and that I have multiple relatives who served as templars.”

“Your uncle was the Knight-Commander at Ostwick,” he remembered.

“I have several cousins that were spread across the Free Marches as well in various Circles,” she added. “So that’s a point in your favor.”

“Do you know where they are?”

Liviana froze at the question. “I never thought about it,” she whispered. “None of them are here, I don’t think. Do you think…?”

“Some of the templars, especially in the Free Marches, elected to stay out of the war and remained in their respective cities,” Cullen rushed to assure her, mentally berating himself for bringing the topic up. “I know the Knight-Commander remained at Ostwick, although a few of his templars have joined us. Your other cousins might have done the same.”

“I suppose,” she mused. “I never met any of them, but still. I would like to think that they are safe, and not, you know. Smeared across a bit of dirt in Orlais somewhere courtesy of me.”

“I’m sure they’re safe,” he replied.

“You don’t know that,” she sighed. “And neither do I. Nor do I want to find out. I think in this, at least, ignorance might be bliss.”

“I apologize for bringing it up,” pulling her close, he kissed the top of her head, breathing in deeply of the scent of jasmine and bergamot that wafted up to him.

“Don’t be, it’s fine,” she smiled as she patted his cheek. “I’ll let you get back to work. And Maker save us both when my parents arrive.”

***

Liviana watched as the lacquered carriage rolled through the iron gates, her face an impassive mask to hide the turmoil within. She had sent precious few letters to her parents since she had left Ostwick, preferring to let Josephine handle the bulk of the correspondence, mostly official reports and announcements and such. Nor had she discussed with them the events that had led to her departure. So she was entirely unsure as to what to expect from them. Beside her, Max fidgeted.

The wheels clattered over the paved cobblestones, whispering against the dirt as the horses came to a stop. One of the stableboys sprang to the door before the dust had a chance to settle, and with a foot, kicked the hidden steps open. “My lord, my lady,” he bowed.

Lord Trevelyan was the first to exit, his thin woolen coat, perfectly fitted to his still trim figure, elegantly crumpled from the trip. With one hand held out behind him to aid his wife, he searched the courtyard. A smile ticked at the edge of his mouth as his eyes fell upon both of his children. The Inquisitor and the Healer. In his mind, all he saw was a scruffy boy hiding in the apple tree, picking caterpillars off the bark and flinging them down at his baby sister while the latter shrieked her indignation, stomping delicately slippered feet into the soft grass.

“Inquisitor,” Philip nodded.

“Lord Trevelyan,” Liviana jerked herself to attention, bowing slightly at the waist. A pause- “Father.”

“Mother,” Max echoed as Marisol smoothed out her navy skirts, picking an invisible speck off the ocher velvet inlays. 

“Ev- Inquisitor,” Marisol hastily corrected herself. She was thinner, Liviana noticed with a frown, her figure much the same as it had been when she had first arrived in Ostwick. Gaunt, almost sickly. “And Maxwell, let me look at you.” Crossing the distance between them, heedless of all the eyes who watched, Lady Trevelyan held her son at arm’s length as she ran a critical eye over his form, lingering ever so much longer on the shadows that lurked under his eyes. “I feared the worst when I received your letter,” she murmured quietly. Her voice grew thick, almost rough with emotion. “I- I am pleased to see you standing on your own. I… Maker-” She pressed a gloved palm to her mouth to still her trembling jaw, a few tears spilling free and down her cheek.

“It’s alright, Mother,” Max looked vaguely alarmed at this show of emotion from the older woman. “I’m fine.”

“But you’re not, are you?” Marisol shook her head. Patting his cheek, she offered him a wan smile. “Not entirely.”

“We have people working on it,” he replied softly. “They’ll find something.”

Nodding, she turned her attention to her younger child, who stood staring down at the dirt upon her boots. “Evelyn.”

“Mother,” Liviana glanced up. “The Inquisition welcomes you to Skyhold. May I present Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador, Leliana, our seneschal and the former Left Hand of the Divine, and Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of the Inquisitions’ army?”

“Pleasure,” Lord Trevelyan nodded to them all, bowing in turn to Lady Montilyet. “Evelyn-”

“I- I’m sure you’re both exhausted from your trip,” Liviana rushed ahead before he could finish speaking. “Josephine, will you show my parents to their rooms? Jim and Anton will carry your bags up for you. Anything you need in the meantime, please let one of the servants know. Dinner will be at the seventeeth bell, if that’s agreeable to you both. Just a small affair tonight.”

“That would be lovely,” Marisol watched her daughter as she abruptly nodded, and still refused to meet her parent’s gaze.

“I will see you tonight, then.” Bowing yet again, Liviana beat a hasty retreat, practically scampering up the stairs liked a spooked fox.

“She is still mad at us,” Philip sighed.

“Not exactly?” Max scratched his head. “She’s more wary than anything else. She thinks you're still upset with her.”

“I was, for a while,” Marisol frowned down at her hands as the servants began unloading the carriage. “But- I thought we lost you both at the Conclave. And it was my fault that you and she were even there, and then we received word you were both alive, and then you almost died, and-” She gasped a tiny sob back. “I am not upset with her anymore. I am just thankful she is alive and well. And you- I know I haven’t always been as receptive to your presence after, well…”

“After my magic manifested,” Max supplied.

“Yes,” her dark eyes peeked up at him from underneath her sooty lashes and he was stricken with how similar she and his sister looked. “I _am_ sorry, Maxwell.”

“It’s alright,” he smiled. “Come, let’s get you both inside. Everyone is staring at us. And we’re keeping Lady Josephine waiting.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Josephine smiled. “I am at your disposal, Lord Trevelyan, Lady Trevelyan. It is an honor to welcome you to Skyhold.”

“Lady Montilyet,” Marisol turned towards her, “How are you parents doing? And your sister- You had a sister, yes?”

“Yvette, yes my lady,” Josephine replied graciously. “She is in Orlais at the moment, attending to her studies. My parents are quite well, thank you for asking. Please, this way. I’m afraid there are several flights of stairs we must traverse to reach your suite, but it does provide a spectacular view of the mountains and the sunrise, if you are so inclined.”

“It sounds lovely,” Philip assured her. “Andraste preserve me. This place- It’s magnificent!”

“Your daughter is a most capable Inquisitor,” Josephine added with a fond smile. “It is under her leadership that we have flourished so. Pilgrims and recruits make the journey here daily to pledge their lives to our cause, and our numbers swell by the week. Your own contributions have been most helpful as well.”

“It is all we can do,” Marisol stared up in awe at the intricate stained glass mosaics that adorned the far wall, bathing the gilded throne at the top of the dais in colored light. “Evelyn… When I first heard the people were calling her the Herald of Andraste, I could not believe it. Not that she was not worthy, it is just…”

“Cat wasn’t one for the Chantry,” Max snorted. “She still isn’t. And she will deny any association with Andraste, although everyone else just ignores her. A person can only survive so many fatal encounters before it has to be divine intervention.”

“You believe she was sent by Andraste?” His father asked with a note of surprise in his voice.

Max shrugged. “After everything I’ve seen, the impossible things she’s walked away from- I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Maxwell- Ah, pardon me, I did not realize you had company.” Dorian paused as he caught sight of the elder Trevelyans and swept them a proper bow. “I had hoped to borrow you for a moment.”

“Of course,” Max replied. “Oh, Mother, Father, this is Dorian Pavus.”

“A- A Tevinter? Here?” Philip’s gray eyes narrowed in suspicion as the mage.

“Yes, Father,” Max laid his hand upon his forearm. “Dorian has more than proven his worth and loyalty to the Inquisition, many times over. It’s thanks to him that I’m even alive right now.”

“I… see,” Philip nodded, relaxing by the barest fraction. “For that, you have my thanks, Messere Pavus.”

“It was my honor, Lord Trevelyan,” Dorian nodded.

“I’ll see you both at supper tonight,” Max called as he followed Dorian up.

“A Tevinter, here,” Philip mused as he watched them leave. “And Evelyn lets him stay. She has changed, this past year, hasn’t she?”

“It is to be expected,” his wife sighed. “Come, I need to change and rest a bit before supper.”

*** 

The meal was much as Liviana had predicted. Max and Varric filled the silence with endless prattle, under Josephine’s careful guidance, while the Inquisitor sulked in silence at the end of the table. Vivienne and Leliana also contributed their fair share to the conversation, Cullen and Cassandra adding bits and pieces when forefully prodded or kicked by the ambassador surreptitiously under the table.

“You are Ferelden, yes, Commander?”

“I am, my lady,” he nodded stiffly.

“And what bannorn did your family oversee?”

“None, my lady,” Cullen replied with a mental groan. “I am common born.”

“Oh, my apologies,” Marisol winced slightly. “I meant no offense, Commander. I thought, you were the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. And, well…”

“Many ranked officers within the Order are of the nobility, yes,” Cullen nodded. 

“It is even more remarkable, then, that you rose so high,” Philip offered the man a friendly smile. “You must be very skilled.”

“He is,” Liviana spoke up for the first time of her own volition with a stubborn lilt to her voice. “Commander Cullen is a strategic mastermind like none other. Not to mention the loyalty he inspires in the troops. There is no one else I have met that would do half as well in his post.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cullen tipped his head in her direction while Max snorted a few seats down.

“What was that for?” Marisol asked her son.

All too aware of his sister’s glare and her unspoken retribution, Max just shook his head. “Just thought of something funny, that’s all. Supper was delicious, Sister Leliana.”

“Yes, my compliments to the kitchen,” Philip added.

“I will tell them,” Leliana replied with a slight smirk. “Inquisitor, I don’t believe your parents have seen the rest of Skyhold, have they?”

“No,” Maxwell chirped. “I showed them around inside, but they haven’t seen the rest.”

Liviana knew what they were doing, but aside from appearing cold and as an utter bitch, she had no choice but to agree. “The garden is small, but lovely. Or we could walk the battlements?”

“The battlements sound nice,” her father offered hopefully.

Biting her lip, Liviana rose to her feet and waited as her parents joined her, sedately leading them out of the main hall and across the courtyard to the stairs that led up the wall. “So our stables are over there. Master Dennet is a wonder with the horses, you’d like him, Father. We have some rather unique mounts as well, a dracolisk, and a few harts. I think one of our mounts is even undead. And there is something called a war nug. I’m still not sure what that is.”

“U-Undead?” Her mother stared at her daughter. “And you keep it here?”

“Max begged, for days,” Liviana sighed. “He was impossible until I agreed to let it stay. And the tavern is down there. It gets pretty rowdy in the evenings, so I would avoid it. And there is the armory, and-”

“Evelyn,” Marisol interrupted. “I need to say something. I-”

“No,” Liviana shook her head, her gaze focused down at a tree below, watching as the leaves shifted in the gentle breeze. “You don’t need to-”

“Please,” Marisol said firmly. “I need to apologize to you.”

That got her attention. Eyes flicking upward, Liviana frowned. “What?”

“I need to apologize, for how I treated you and dismissed your thoughts and concerns. I was too harsh with you, too demanding, and I… I just wanted what was- what _I_ thought was best for you,” Marisol’s voice broke. “I had such hopes and dreams for you from the time you were born, and then suddenly, it was all just… gone. You were gone. And then I had you back, and I was so determined to make things right I did not stop to consider that you might not want what I did.”

“I’m sorry as well,” Liviana murmured, too stunned by her mother’s apology to do much else. “I never meant to disappoint either of you.”

“Disappoint us?” Her father frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

Sighing, she crossed her arms and turned her gaze away from them, staring listlessly out at the mountains beyond the walls. “I know you wanted me to marry Sebastian. I just… I couldn’t. I couldn’t be the daughter you wanted.”

“My darling girl,” Philip took a step towards her. “The only daughter I wanted you to be was who you already were. Not a noble, not a princess, just you. You are perfect the way you are. I only wish I could have taken your pain and heartache away, my sweet child. You’ve lived through so much hurt, and I… I have never been disappointed in you. Far from it actually. You survived, Evelyn. Escaped Tevinter on your own, did the right things over and over even though it was not easy. And this. You’ve built all the Inquisition from nothing, saved the Empress of Orlais, saved all of Thedas.”

“That last one is still in progress,” a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “And I had help with everything else.”

“You will do it,” he replied firmly. “Because you are you, and no father was or ever will be more proud of his child than I. I never wanted you to marry Sebastian for the wealth or prestige. He said he loved you, and I thought mistakenly that you cared for him as well,” Philip ran a weary hand through his hair. “I wanted a man who would love and cherish you like you deserve. I just want for you to be happy.”

“I am,” Liviana glanced back at them hesitantly. “I am happy… With Cullen.”

Marisol fidgeted with the lace upon her glove, a delicate frown wrinkling her brow. “Cullen? You don’t mean-”

“Commander Cullen Rutherford, yes.”

“The former Knight-Captain of the Gallows?” Philip frowned. He recalled reading about the man in the Tale of the Champion. “You were friends with him, I thought.”

“We were. We still are. And more. He...” A small smile rose unbidden to her lips. “I love him.”

“He said he was common born, at supper tonight,” Marisol mused. “No lands or titles at all. Is that so?”

“Mother,” Liviana’s voice rose in tone with more than a hint of exasperation in her voice. “Yes. His parents were farmers. His siblings still are.”

“And this does not bother you?”

“No. Should it?” She cocked one eyebrow up. “He has accomplished many great things on his own, whatever the circumstances of his birth were. One’s bloodright does not determine who they are, or who they ought to be. I should know that better than any after everything I have seen. After everyone I have met.”

“You are right,” Marisol sighed, releasing her glove in favor of plucking at the velvet of her skirts. “I will endeavor to not let me own prejudices cloud my view.”

“Besides, my dear,” Lord Trevelyan chuckled. “You are the Inquisitor. Who would dare tell you who to love? Not I, that’s for damn sure. I know how stubborn that Antivan blood is. Very well,” he added dryly with a sidelong glance at his wife, who just glared back at him and hissed his name under her breath. “He is a good man, though? Honorable and kind?”

“The very best,” she promised.

“Then I suppose he’ll do for my girl,” Philip nodded.

“And he is Andrastian?” her mother added timidly.

“Very much so. He does not have much faith left in the Chantry; I don’t think many of us do anymore. But he believes. He believes in the Maker and His Bride, and that things can be better. He plays chess, too,” Liviana added with a smirk towards her father. The man just chuckled.

“I always knew you had good taste, my girl.”

“May we meet him?” Marisol hedged. “Not as your Commander, we’ve already been introduced as such, but as your… paramour?”

“Of course,” she nodded. “Perhaps lunch tomorrow? We can have a picnic in the gardens, there is a chess set there, and the weather has been lovely the last few weeks.”

“That sounds perfect,” Philip smiled. “It is rather warmer here than I thought, for being so high in the mountains. And the rest of the valley is still covered in snow, even in late summer.”

“Solas, one of my companions, says that this place was sacred to the Elvhen of old, and that their magic lingers still in the stones. I believe it- the garden was in bloom when we arrive in spring, despite ice and snow covering every inch of the place.”

“Whatever it is, it seems like it welcomes you,” Marisol said quietly. “You’ve built yourself quite the organization, my darling. And we are so very proud of you. Truly.”

Shyly taking her mother’s outstretched hand, Liviana just smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me giddy. Hehe.


	70. Struggling with Doubts

“I don’t believe I’ve lost this bad since I was a lad,” Philip chuckled as he studied the board laid out before him. “I concede, Commander. Again.”

Blushing, Cullen ducked his head down. “You were a worthy opponent, my lord.”

“Bah,” he waved the compliment away. “I know when I’m outmatched. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Philip?”

“You are still calling me by my title,” Cullen pointed out with a small smile.

“So I am,” Philip agreed. “Cullen. Where did you learn to play so well?”

“My own father taught me,” Cullen replied softly. “I used to play with my sister. She was insufferable every time she won, so my brother and I practiced for weeks until I was skilled enough to beat her. The look on her face when I finally won,” he grinned. “It was a good day.”

“Cullen’s pretty insufferable when he wins, too,” Liviana offered from another small table a few paces away, seated on a wrought iron chair across from her mother. 

“Only when I play you, because you throw things at my head when you lose,” Cullen retorted. 

Liviana stuck her tongue out at him. “That’s only because you smirk up at me yes, just like that,” she threw a blueberry at him that he ducked handily.

Smiling, Marisol watched as the pair argued as if they were already an old, married couple, bickering without any true heat and not a trace of malice. It warmed her heart to see her daughter so relaxed for once. And even though Cullen was no noble, the position of Commander of the Inquisitor was no small title to bear. It was a good enough match for her. At least Evelyn would not want for anything. “Cullen, you said you grew up near the mountains? Do your parents still live there?”

“My parents died during the Blight,” Cullen replied softly. “My siblings escaped, and now reside in South Reach.”

“Oh, forgive me,” Marisol murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he assured her. “It was a long time ago.”

“And you? Were you in Ferelden during the Blight as well?” Philip asked.

Liviana winced as a dark shadow flitted behind Cullen’s eyes, the corners of his lips pulling down into a slight frown. “I… yes. I was stationed at Kinloch Hold during that time, on Lake Calenhad.”

“Kinloch Hold?” Marisol thought for a moment. “Wasn’t that the Circle that was overrun by blood mages?”

“It was,” Cullen nodded grimly.

“You must be a very strong person to have survived all of that,” Philip said softly. “And to still be so fair and just to the mages. Maxwell speaks well of you.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Cullen’s voice turned grim. “I have a lot of atone for. But I am trying. And I’ve had help,” he glanced toward Liviana, who just smiled up at him. “I don’t think I’d be here where I am today without your daughter’s confidence and encouragement.”

“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Liviana giggled. “Usually, you just call me bossy.”

“Well, you are.”

“Yes, she’s very much like her mother,” Philip snorted, wincing as his wife slapped his arm. “But also determined, and brave like her as well.”

“Now you’re just trying to butter me up,” Marisol huffed.

“Yes, dear. Is it working?”

“I suppose. That man,” she sighed and shook her head. “So you are leaving tomorrow, Evelyn?”

“Yes,” Liviana nodded. “The Qun is proposing an alliance, so I have to go meet with one of their representatives out near the Storm Coast. Are you both staying here for a bit longer?”

“As long as the Inquisition will have us,” Philip nodded. “I- We would like to spend as much time as possible with Maxwell.” _Just in case_. Liviana understood the unspoken words all too well. It chafed at her that she could not remain as well, but the needs of the world outweighed her desire to stay with her brother.

“You are more than welcome here,” Cullen replied as she nodded her agreement. “I will be around, should you need anything.”

“Do you always stay within Skyhold?” Marisol asked. “Or do you also go out on missions?”

“I stay here, mostly. I need to be central to everyone and coordinate between those who are in the field,” Cullen said, almost resentfully, rubbing one temple. “Ideally, once the bulk of our work in complete and Corypheus has been defeated, I would like to accompany Catalina more. She gets up to enormous amounts of trouble on her own.”

“I do not,” Liviana grumbled. “Just because the pinnacle of your excitement consists of combing your hair left to right instead of right to left and calibrating trebuchets doesn’t mean my fun is called trouble.”

“You call her Catalina,” Marisol smiled softly. “I thought only Maxwell called you that.”

Shrugging, Liviana took another sip of her wine. “Max calls me Cat. Cullen is actually the only one who calls me Catalina.”

“Firefly! Are you- Oh, pardon, I didn’t realize you had company,” Varric skidded to a stop as he laid eyes on the elder Trevelyans all seated together under the stone gazebo.

“It’s alright. Something important?” Liviana asked.

“Sort of,” Varric replied apologetically. “I’ll just need you for a few minutes.”

“Alright,” Liviana nodded, and rose. “Please excuse me.”

“So, Cullen,” Philip leaned back in his chair and studied the younger man. “I feel I must ask, as a father, as clichéd as it might be. What are you intentions with my daughter? Do you plan on marrying her?”

Thinking for a moment, Cullen picked up a stray chess piece, turning the carved marble over in his hand as he formulated a response. “Ideally, yes. But she has expressed some ambivalence towards the idea of marriage in the past, so if she does not want to marry, I will be content just staying with her, vows or no.”

“But the Chantry dictates that you must marry, if you are carrying on with, well,” Marisol blushed, far too hesitant to say the words aloud.

Cullen felt his own ears burn and cheeks red as well. “Ah, yes,” he coughed into his fist. “Like I said, I would prefer to marry. But I think the Maker and Andraste would understand if we did not, given what Catalina has endured and sacrificed for Thedas.”

Philip nodded his agreement, apparently pleased with his response. “Well then, I look forward to the day you ask me for my permission to marry.”

Slowly, deliberately, Cullen set down the queen he had been fiddling with and took a deep breath. “With all due respect, my lord, I won’t be asking you for your permission. Catalina is the only person who could grant me permission to marry her. I would, however, one day like to ask you for your blessing, if we do decide marriage is for us.”

Marisol gasped as Cullen held Philip’s steely gaze for the span of several heartbeats. “Commander, that is-”

Philip burst into laughter, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You’ll do quite well for my Evelyn,” he chuckled madly, enthusiastically clapping a stunned Cullen on his shoulder. “You’ll do quite well, son. It’s alright, Mari,” he added to his wife who still sat in shock at what she had perceived to be an insolent response. “Evelyn is her own woman now, and is more than capable of deciding her own future. If she had grown up with us, we might have had more of a say in her life but,” he lifted one shoulder in as light shrug. “That was taken from us. From her. What matters now is that she is happy. And I think our Commander will do a fine job at ensuring she is so, won’t you?”

“With all that I have to give, my lord,” Cullen replied fervently.

“That is all that I want,” Philip nodded. “Now, how about another game? Best five out of seven, eh?”

Smiling, Cullen reset the board. “As you wish. Philip.”

*** 

“I think my father is in love with you.”

Snorting, Cullen laid the last of his armor upon the stand in the far corner of the room and turned to face Liviana, who was sprawled out on a bearskin in front of her hearth, tucking his hands behind his back to ignore the tremor in them. Somehow, bit by bit, Cullen had found more and more of his belongings in her room, just appearing there as if by magic. First a shirt. Then a few sets of breeches, Then boots, and an extra armor stand, and his shaving kit, and everything else he needed. Neither of them remarked on this new development. It was as natural as breathing for them both. “I like him. He’s a good man.”

“Mm,” holding up one hand, Liviana smiled as Cullen took it and settled down behind to her on the rug, one hand draped over the curve of her waist to ground himself. “He is. And my mother has been surprisingly… amicable this visit.”

“She loves you very much,” Cullen buried his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. “They both do.”

“That tickles,” she giggled and rolled over onto her back, one hand raising to flick away an errant curl that had come loose against his temple. “So I met the Bianca today. Varric’s Bianca, in the flesh.”

“She’s an actual person?” Cullen remarked. “For some reason, I thought she was more of a figment of his imagination.”

“No, she’s real. Pretty, too, although something about her…” Shrugging, Liviana laid down the book in her hands. “I don’t know. She has a lead on Corypheus’ source of red lyrium, in a mine called Valammar. It’s in the Hinterlands, I remember Carta being stationed outside the entrance. We’re going to check it out after the Qun thing. And then a few days rest back in Skyhold, and I’ll be off to the Hissing Wastes,” she sighed dramatically, flinging one arm out. “Have I mentioned I hate the desert?”

“Not today,” he replied mildly. “Eleven times yesterday though, after Leliana told you that you needed to go there.”

“It needs to be said. Frequently,” she grumbled. “I hate the desert.”

“After this, you’ll never have to set foot in another desert as long as you live,” he chuckled.

“I’m holding you to that, templar,” Liviana muttered.

“Former,” he corrected automatically. “Cat, there was something I wanted to ask you.” Letting his lungs inflate to the point of almost pain, Cullen released it all in one breath. “After this is all over. What did you want to do?”

Her lower lip sucked in between her teeth as she thought, her dark eyes roaming over his features. “I don’t know, honestly. I mean, I don’t particularly want to go back to Ostwick. Alistair offered me a job as part of his guard, but I don’t know if I would be able to tolerate the monotony of just standing watch day in and day out. But I don’t want to be a merc again either. What did you want to do?”

“I’m not sure either,” he confessed. Propping himself up on one elbow, Cullen gently stroked the soft skin of her cheek, letting his finger trace the edge of her jaw and down the smooth column of her neck. Frowning as his hand began to shake again, he withdrew himself and sat up. “I should go visit my family. But after that,” he shrugged.

“Cullen,” Liviana pushed herself up and took his hand in hers, her brow furrowing as she turned his palm over and felt how clammy his skin was. She pressed her other hand to his forehead. “You’re feverish again.”

“It’s nothing,” he began to protest, and then sighed as he saw her face. “It’s been getting worse again,” his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I don’t- I can’t-”

“I’ve noticed that your nightmares have been getting worse as well,” she stretched up to kiss his temple, dabbing away the sweat that gathered there with the edge of her sleeve. “Is nothing helping anymore?”

“The potions take off the edge, but the symptoms remain,” he replied quietly. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Cat. You need a strong, capable Commander. Perhaps I should speak with Cassandra tomorrow. She promised that she would help find a replacement for me.”

“Cullen, no,” she shook her head vehemently. “You can do this.”

“If you could stop the nightmares, wouldn’t you?” He challenged her, firelight reflecting within his eyes. “If I took lyrium, they would stop. Or at least become much less frequent, less severe. I could work without pain and a fogged mind, actually sleep. Tell me that isn’t worth it.”

“It’s not,” she stared back at him. “And you know it. You called it your leash once, your chains. Would you willingly crawl back to your master? Should I?”

“Maker, no,” Cullen exclaimed as he leapt to his feet and began pacing. “But this isn’t the same, Cat, it’s-”

“Isn’t it?” she shot back. “Tell me I don’t know what it’s like to be tortured. Tell me I don’t know the worst of blood magic. Tell me-”

“I’m not as strong as you!” He roared, stunning her into silence. “I am not you, I am so much weaker! I watched as my brethren were tortured and killed, and the demons spared me for some unholy reason and twisted my thoughts, invaded my mind and- and the lyrium could make it all better. Could make me better. I made a _vow_ , Cat. I swore to give my all to the Inquisition. I will not give less to the Inquisition than I gave to the Chantry. I cannot,” his fist slammed into the carved railing above her stairs, rattling the wood. “Too much is at stake here. We cannot fail because of me!” Shoving away from the wall, he stormed out through the open door onto the balcony, his shoulders heaving with each tattered breath he sucked in.

Slowly rising to her feet, Liviana carefully approached him as one would a spooked halla, both of her hands outstretched towards him. “The Chantry asked too much of you, Cullen. It didn’t deserve half of what you gave them.” She gently touched his shoulder, and he shuddered. “You are strong. Stronger than me, I should think. No, don’t glare at me like that. It’s true.”

“I beg to differ,” he scoffed.

“You’ve accepted the mages here. You’ve worked so hard to overcome your trauma and prejudices. I still can’t hear a Tevinter accent without wanting to lash out. Dorian had to save my life twice, and Max’s once in order for me to just tolerate him finally, while you befriended him months ago. And you’ve come this far, love.” Cupping his cheek in her hand, Liviana offered him a slight smile as he turned to gaze down at her. “Is that what you want? To go back on lyrium?”

“No,” he whispered, his eyes wide and full of moonlight. “I don’t want it.”

“Lyrium won’t make you better. You’re the best person I know by virtue of who you are,” she murmured. “Lyrium had no part in that. And I say this as the Inquisitor, and not the woman that loves you, that we could ask for no better Commander than you. You’re smart, devoted, practical, skilled- everything the Inquisition needs in its military leader. You have been giving your best, and it’s been enough. More than enough, I daresay. We saved Orlais. Stopped the Wardens. Decimated Corypheus’ red lyrium mines, forced Samson to abandon his base, cleared out all of Ferelden and most of Orlais of the red templars and Venatori, secured villages and towns over both countries while protecting and supporting the people. You and your troops.”

“And you,” he nudged her shoulder.

“I did some,” she shrugged. “But your people are doing the bulk of the work, the heavy lifting, on your orders. And your people adore you, Cullen. You inspire them to be better than they are because you do the same. So you’re not going to ask Cassandra for a replacement, and you’re not going to ever think about going back on lyrium, do you understand me? You are going to beat this thing, and not end up on the streets like the others-” her voice hitched- “and we’re going to take down Corypheus together. And once all of this is said and done with, we’ll go… somewhere. Far away from deserts. We’ll take up nug farming. Or cabbage raising. Or- I think I’ve got those backwards, hold on.”

Snorting, Cullen wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side, laying his cheek against the crown of her head. “How do you have so much faith in me?”

“Because I know you. And I know what you’re capable of. You are strong and kind and honorable and everything good and pure worth saving in this world,” she nuzzled her nose into his chest.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured. “Ow. Why did you hit me?”

“Because you’re being an idiot,” she retorted. “You deserve everything. Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me, so that’s what you get.”

“I’ll gladly take it,” he laughed. “All I want is you, anyhow.”

“Mm. Good. Because I’m never leaving you, you daft man. Now let’s go inside, I’m freezing my balls off out here.” Liviana squeaked a giggle as Cullen caught her up into his arms and whisked her back inside.

“You’re such a romantic,” he teased, laying her down gently onto the bed. 

“You’re one to talk,” Liviana tossed her robe and shift over the edge, leaving her in nothing but bare skin that Cullen hungrily eyed. “What do you like to call me? Lady Lizard? Or was it Lady Cockroach? Why are you looking at me like that? I thought you didn't feel well?"

"I don't think I'll ever be too incapcitated to not want you," he laughed softly. "Of course, if you don't want to..."

"I didn't say that." 

With a little help from her, Cullen’s own clothes went sailing onto the floor, and with a soft groan let her push him down onto the blankets so she could clamber atop his lap. “I should amend your titles. Since you don’t like deserts, and lizards love deserts. Roaches, too.”

“Hmm.” Her fingers whispered against his skin as she traced the ridges of his muscles, down his chest and across his stomach to where his awakening arousal lay, rising with every heartbeat that passed. “Let's see... You could call me Lady Nug.”

“Nugs have creepy feet,” Cullen hissed as she lazily stroked him, his eyes focused on her smiling lips. “You have pretty feet.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” Ducking her head down, Liviana dragged her tongue up his shaft, her pupils widening with lust as he cried out from the friction. “What about Lady Gazelle?”

“Too graceful,” he gasped. “And they have long legs. You’re too short, Maker’s breath, _Cat_.”

Smirking, Liviana slid her lips back along the ridge of his head and released him with an obscene pop. “Lady Bumblebee?”

“Possibly.” His hands clamped around her hips as he snatched her up into the air, and impaled in her one smooth thrust upon his girth, burying himself to the hilt inside of her wet heat. “Catalina,” Cullen murmured, watching every sensation play out across her face, her mouth open on a silent scream, her eyelashes quivering, her nails digging into his shoulders. His tremors and pain dampened for now, he lost himself in the feel of her. “You feel so good, love. You’re- ah!”

Rolling her hips, Liviana moaned as she ground against him, angling herself until she whimpered in ecstasy. She gasped as he caught one nipple in his mouth, his tongue and teeth worrying the stiff peak while his fingers toyed with the other.

Mesmerized, a man caught in a trance, he watched as she used him for her own pleasure, words of encouragement and adoration pouring from his lips like honey. She was perfect. Every scarred inch of her, and he wanted to feel it all. Running his palms over her back, he tugged her closer until her breasts were pressed firmly against his chest, his teeth nibbling at the sensitive juncture of her neck. “That’s it, love,” he groaned. “Fuck, you- Come for me, Catalina. Come for me love, just like that.”

“Cullen!” Gripping his biceps painfully, her back arched like a bow pull taut, and she screamed as her orgasm washed over her, her walls fluttering wilding around his cock, pulling him with her into bliss. Every nerve ending tingled warmly in her body, leaving a trail of electricity in its wake.

Cullen sighed happily as she laid herself against him, both of them heedless of the sweat and seed that marked their skin. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” she mumbled into his neck. “Fuck, that was good.”

"I wholeheartedly agree,” he chuckled. Gently pulling himself free, Cullen cleaned them both up and smiled as she snuggled into him, her back pressed to his front. One hand traced the scars upon her skin, following the lines of old blademarks up her bicep and across her shoulder, and down her back to- “What’s this?”

“Hmm? Oh,” she frowned as she felt his fingers trace the intertwined snakes imprinted into her flesh. “My brand. Marking me as property of Ludus Atropos.”

“I’m sorry,” he winced. 

“Don’t be,” Liviana yawned, and craned her neck back to kiss him. “I forget it’s there these days. It’s not important anymore.”

Reaching up, Cullen smiled as he began lightly scratching her scalp, the same as she did to him, and chuckled as she instantly snuggled back into him. “Perhaps I should call you Lady Kitten. No, that’s not right either. I’ve got it. Lady Lynx.”

“I still have that pin,” she murmured sleepily. “In my drawer. It’s too damaged to wear again, but I kept it. You know you’ve given me several presents now. And I haven’t gotten you a thing. I should remedy that.”

“You’ve given me everything,” he whispered back. “Love. Hope. A future. It’s more than enough, love.”

“Still. Maybe I’ll get you some bees. Or a pet nug with extra creepy feet.”

“Maker’s breath. I’m trying to be sweet.”

“So am I.”

“Go to sleep, Cat.”

“I love you, too.”


	71. Judgement

"Would you like to rephrase that?”

“Ah, Bianca,” Varric sidled up to the other dwarf, his eyes nervously flickering between the two women, both of them deceptive in their stance. “I don’t think you want to-”

“She heard what I said,” Bianca replied testily. “And I stand by it.”

“Is that so?” Whipping out a dagger, Liviana smiled lazily as she twirled the razor sharp blade between the fingers of one hand. “And how, pray tell, would you plan on feeding me my own eyeballs? Or better yet, how do you propose that you somehow care for Varric more than I? I’ve known him for seven years now. And do you know how many times he’s mentioned you? None. Do you know what I think?” She advanced on Bianca, who slowly took a step back. “I think you’re just using him. And he’s such a good person, that he still remains loyal to you when he deserves someone who won’t treat him like a dirty secret, or an inconvenient truth. You don’t give a nug’s arse about him except in lip service you selfish bitch, so do not _dare_ to threaten me or to presume that I would not give my life to save his.”

“Firefly-”

“Out of consideration for my friend,” Liviana ignored him. “I won’t have you taken in and imprisoned and judged for your role in this war, Bianca Davri. But know this. Threaten me again, or do _anything_ to hurt Varric, and I will throw you in the deepest hole I can find and seal it shut.”

“Understood, Inquisitor,” Bianca’s voice clipped out. “Varric.”

“Bianca, wait- Ahh, shit,” Varric sighed as the other dwarf slipped out of the room. “Dammit, Firefly. It’s not all her fault.”

“You’re joking,” Liviana replied flatly. “She’s the one who leaked the location of the original thaig to Erimond and Corypheus. It’s her fault Max is dying. And it’s her fucking fault that you haven’t been able to move on from her worthless arse and find someone who deserves you and makes you happy. Talk about feeding me my own eyeballs, the nerve.”

Unable to hide his smile, Varric just scrubbed one hand against his face and shook his head. “I admit, she could have used a better choice of words. But seriously. No one deserves me. No one could handle all of this dwarf.”

Liviana grinned and squeezed his shoulder. “And that’s the damn truth. Come on. I’ve had enough of this place.”

It was only a few hours hike to camp, the tents and a hot meal already prepared courtesy of the scouts. Thanking one as they brought her a plate, Liviana collapsed down onto the grass next to the Iron Bull, Dorian on his other side. She had been leery of including the Tevinter mage, but after his aid, she could not deny that he had no evil intentions towards her or the Inquisition. So, she had decided to bring him along with his lover, giving the two men more time together.

“You’ve been quiet for quite some time, Bull,” she glanced at the hulking Qunari who sat staring listlessly at the fire. 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly. “Just thinking. Tal-Va-fucking-Shoth. I never thought it’d be me. Now I’m just wondering how long it’ll be until I lose my mind too.”

Setting down the roasted rabbit she held, Liviana considered his words for a moment. “You know, I thought all mages were the same once. And all the Qunari. And all Tevinters. And I’ve been proved wrong each time,” she glanced toward Dorian, who nodded and smiled. “So it stands to reason that not all Tal-Vashoth are the same. You don’t have to be like the rest of them.”

“So what am I supposed to be then?” he grunted.

“The Iron Bull, leader of the Chargers, seems like a good place to start, don’t you think?”

“But that’s what I already was,” he frowned after a moment.

“Exactly. The Qun doesn’t define who you are. You’ve acted outside the Qun for years, based on what you’ve told me,” she pointed out. “So it’s just a formality now. You’ve always known who you are, and Maferath’s hairy balls, I’m starting to sound like Varric.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” the dwarf chuckled.

“I don’t even know anymore,” she sighed. “Point is, Bull, you don’t need the Qun to tell you what’s right and wrong. I was thinking about what Gatt said, how the Qun saved him from slavery and gave him purpose. And how my life would have been different if the Qun had rescued me as a child as well. Would I have found purpose? Meaning to my life, an order to the madness?” Holding up the anchor upon her left hand, Liviana watched as the magic flickered around her palm. “I think I managed quite well on my own. With help from my friends,” she acknowledged Varric with a nod. “But I didn’t need the Qun to show me my path. You don’t either.”

“Some might argue you’re a mindless killing machine too,” the Iron Bull observed.

“I am a selective killing machine, thank you very much,” she sniffed. “Rude.”

Chuckling, Bull reached for his food. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just gonna take some getting used to.”

“Take all the time you need. When we get back to Skyhold, you can have some downtime to process everything.”

“Nah,” he waved her offer away. “Best to keep busy. What’s next, Hissing Wastes?”

“Yes. Venatori activity out there. Something about them excavation ancient dwarven ruins,” Liviana replied around a mouthful of food as Dorian looked on in absolute horror. “Wanna go?”

“Sure.”

"Pavus?”

“If I say yes, will you eat like a civilized person?” The mage asked dryly.

Swallowing her food, Liviana let out a loud burp. “Not likely.”

“Lovely,” he groaned. “I suppose I will tag along though. I’d love to say hi to some of countrymen. With a fireball. To their faces.”

“Sounds like my kind of hello,” Liviana smiled. “Varric?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “Got some business to take care of, letters piling up like hyperactive nugs the longer I stay away. I need to get to writing, too. Max asked me for a special favor for his lady love, the sequel to my romance serial.”

Liviana made a face. “Those are terrible. I can’t believe she likes them.”

“Just because you have no taste.” 

“I think I’ll have to agree with our Inquisitor on this one,” Dorian interjected. “I read them. And I feel dumber for having tried. Do stick to your crime series, Varric. Those are palatable at least.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Varric sighed. “No one appreciates my art.”

“Inquisitor!” A scout ran up to them, brandishing a scroll in one hand. “The dragon northwest of here is on the move again. It’s just attacked a few settlements in the area.”

“Send whatever men we can spare to help the villagers. And,” she groaned as the Iron Bull perked up in his seat. “Yes, Bull, we’re going to go kill it. And may the Maker have mercy on my soul when Cullen finds out.”

“I’ll light a candle for you, Firefly.”

“That is less comforting than I imagined,” she grumbled. “Let’s pack up our shit and go.”

*** 

“Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine;  
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, and I’ll not look for wine.  
The thirst that from the soul doth rise doth ask a drink divine.  
But I of Maker’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine.  
I sent thee late a rosy wreath, not so much honoring thee  
As giving it a hope, that there it could not withered be.  
But thou thereon didst only breathe, and sent it back to me;  
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, not of itself, but thee.”

“I liked that one the best, I think,” Cassandra smiled up at Max, her head resting in his lap. Both of them were enjoying the last the of the summer’s warmth spread out on the grass behind the armory, a crisp bite in the breeze that heralded the arrival of autumn that would be arriving all too soon. 

“Mm,” Max agreed, thumbing through the rest of the book. A mischievous smirk curled up at the edge of his lips as he found another. “How about this one?”

‘Crumpled like a carnation, mauve and dim,   
It breathes, cowering humbly in the moss,   
Still wet with love with trickles down across   
The soft slope of white buttocks to its rim.’

“Is that about…”

“Yes.”

“Maxwell!” Slapping his thigh, Cassandra scowled up at the mage as he cackled in his mirth. “That is horrible.”

“Hey, there’s another. My mouth mates often with this breathing-hole. While matter goes and comes, my jealous soul makes tawny tears there in its next of sighs- ow, Cass!”

“You are terrible,” she muttered, trying to hide her smile.

“Don’t blame me, blame the Orlesians,” he grinned, tracing the curves of her cheeks with one hand. “They’re the ones who wrote them.”

“I do blame the Orlesians. For quite a many things,” she huffed.

“I’ll find a better one,” he promised. “So Cat should be back in another day or two, right? Are you going to go with her to the Hissing Wastes?”

“No,” Cassandra sighed. “I offered, but she said I’d be more useful here keeping everyone else out of trouble.”

“Ah. Mainly, me. I get what she’s doing, but she doesn’t have to,” he grumbled, more to himself than her. “It’s not like I’m going to just faint, or keel over during breakfast one day any time soon. And our parents are here, too.”

“She worries Maxwell,” Cassandra chided gently. “And she feels helpless, and wishes she could stay with you. But she can’t, so letting me stay here with is the best she can do.”

“I’m not ungrateful,” he smiled down at her. “Every moment more I get to spend with you is like- like a dewdrop on a rose petal in the sunlight- what? It wasn’t that bad.”

Chuckling, Cassandra just pulled down his head to lay a chaste kiss against his lips. “We can stick to reading poetry, Maxwell.”

“Lady Seeker! Lady Seeker!” One of Leliana’s scouts ran up to where they lay, partially hidden from the world. “Warden Blackwall has gone.”

“What?” Shoving herself off the ground, Cassandra frowned at the man, who passed a crumpled scrap of parchment to her. “Has Leliana been informed?”

“Yes, Seeker.”

“What does it say?” Max asked, rising to his feet as well.

“It’s a notice of an execution,” Cassandra quickly scanned the note. “For one Cyril Mornay, a lieutenant responsible for the Callier Massacre.”

“The Callier Massacre?”

“Lord Callier and his family were all ambushed and killed while traveling, back in 37, I believe it was,” she replied. “Even the children. The man who ordered the attack, Captain Thom Rainier, formerly of Empress Celene’s army, was never found. Does Blackwall know this man?”

“I have my suspicions,” Leliana called as she approached them, nodding her dismissal to her scout. “I already sent word to the Inquisitor, and she is en route to Val Royeaux as we speak.”

“Maker, I hope he’s okay,” Maxwell murmured.

Leliana glanced at Cassandra. “I suppose we shall see.”

*** 

Her footsteps echoed off the walls, the air humid and damp as most prisons tended to be, the clang and clatter of iron scraping against stone making her thoughts scattered and unfocused. _Blood and iron and shadows and-_

“Catalina.”

Cullen was here. He was here, and she was safe. Inhaling an unsteady breath, she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Fine. And Liviana was furious. Furious at being lied to, at the fact that he willingly killed children. 

_But haven’t you slaughtered your share of innocents?_

_I had no choice! I was a slave!_

_Didn’t you though?_

_At least I didn’t take gold to do it. And all he’s done since then is run and-_

_And help._

Isabela’s voice from what seemed like a lifetime ago came back to her. _“Life is messy. And sometimes people do shit things. But what matters is how you move forward. What you learn from making mistakes. Everyone deserves a second chance, Liv.”_

_He’s helped trained farmers to defend themselves and their families. Helped the Inquisition, fought at my side and my back, faced down countless demons in an attempt to make things right again. Spent his free time making toys for the children in Skyhold. And he saved that man, and intended to take his place on the gallows._

If she could forgive Isabela for what she had done in the past, couldn’t she do the same for Blackwall? No, Thom?

“What do you wish to do?” Cullen’s soft voice broke into her reverie.

“Bring him back to Skyhold,” she sighed. “I’ll deal with him there.” Whatever she meant to do, she could not leave him to this fate. For all of his sins, he deserved more than to be made into a public spectacle just to sate the violent mass’ bloodthirst. 

Liviana did not speak much on the trip back, although she was grateful for Cullen’s proximity. Judging the criminals she had so far was hard enough; could she sit on her fancy throne and sentence a man she called friend? 

As she crawled into her tent the night before they were due to reach Skyhold, Cullen’s arms cradling her to his side, Liviana found that sleep proved to be elusive. Tossing and turning, the questions in her head demanded answers. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should have left him in Val Royeaux,” he muttered. “After what he did- and how he pretended to be someone he wasn’t, someone who was a good and honorable man- He killed children, Cat.”

“So have I,” she whispered into the darkness. Under her fingers, Cullen tensed, then sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he kissed her head. “I didn’t mean to imply he was a terrible person for what he did, although I don’t condone it. I understand the mechanics of war. Rather, it is that he ran. Left his men to take the fall for him while he hid. Those are the actions of a coward.”

“I agree,” she replied softly. “But he’s done a lot of good since then. I wasn’t going to let him die there, that much was certain. But now… I’m not sure what an appropriate punishment would be? Or if a punishment is even necessary? The real Blackwall is dead, so I can’t ask him how he feels about a criminal taking his name.”

“How would you feel if it was your name being used?” Cullen asked sleepily.

As his breathing slowly deepened into slumber, Liviana turned over his words in her mind. What would she think, if someone with Rainier’s past used her name? _All he’s done since he took Blackwall’s name is help. I think I’d be alright with it. Maybe even proud. And he did come clean in the end, and spared another life by his confession. He could have just remained in hiding, and no one would have been the wiser._

Dozens of varying ideas flitted through her mind, each one examined and summarily discarded. It wasn’t until she stepped onto the dais the morning of his judgement and settled herself on the golden throne that would never fit her, that Liviana knew exactly what she had to do.

“Maker, she looks as if she’s born for that throne,” Philip murmured, watching his daughter as she spoke to the war criminal, her voice ringing throughout the great stone hall.

“It’s grown on her,” Max nodded. “Little by little, she’s figured it out.”

“She was worried she’d never make a capable bann,” her father chuckled wryly. “And here she is, the most powerful woman in Thedas, ruling as if it were second nature to her.”

“Blackwall meant for you to join the Grey Wardens,” Liviana’s voice cut into their hushed gossip. “I find I can do no less.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Thom Rainier bowed his head.

“After the Inquisition is done with you,” she added imperiously. “You gave us your blade, Rainier. Do you still mean to uphold that oath?”

“If you’ll have me, my lady, I would gladly lend you whatever I have left of me,” he knelt at her feet.

“Don’t do that,” Liviana snapped testily. “Stand up.”

“Ah- yes, Inquisitor.” Shuffling to his feet once more, Rainier dared to peek up at her and found her expression entirely at odds with her harsh tone. A small smile played on the edge of her lips, and her eyes were soft and gentle. Was she not taking this seriously?

“You’ve had my back countless times so far,” she continued. “And I know the severity of your crimes. I am not innocent either- not many of us present here are. But I was told once by a dear friend, that what matters most in life is how you move forward from your mistakes. You ran, for the longest time. But while you ran, and hid, you atoned. How many lives have you saved since then? And while one life cannot be weighed against another, I believe the good you have done for the people, for Thedas, cannot be trivialized. You are a good man at heart, Thom Rainier. And I am honored to have you fight at my side.”

“My lady-” His voice thickened, turning rough and graveled. “You do me too much honor.”

“I do just enough, I believe,” she murmured just loud enough to reach his ears alone. “Guards. Release this man.”

“That was well done,” Cullen smiled as she descended from the dais.

“Was it?” All of her stolid, calm demeanor washed away from her figure, leaving her worn and unsure. Glancing back behind her, to where some of the nobility stood muttering in low, strident tones, Liviana chewed on her lower lip. “Some of them don’t approve.”

“Some of them can go jump off a bloody bridge,” Cullen muttered. “You did fine, Cat. I think all the people that matter are pleased with the outcome. Namely, you. You are pleased, aren’t you?”

“It’s what I thought was best,” she inclined her head. “I think he’s paid enough for his crimes. The man carries as much guilt as I do around, perhaps even more. His life is better served… serving.”

“You should’ve put that in your speech,” Varric snorted as he came up. “Your Inquisitorialness has such a way with words.”

“Shut it,” Liviana scowled. “Don’t you have some smut to write?”

“Working on it,” he smirked. “Just wanted to let you know Junior and Sunshine should be here in a week or so. They just landed in Highever.”

“I’ll be gone by then,” she replied. “Cullen will have Carver’s assignment, I expect. And Bethany- she’s a healer, isn’t she? She could help Max, if she wants. Otherwise, Fiona could provide her with work.”

“I’ll let them know,” Varric nodded. “Alright, back to the books. Your brother owes me big time.”

“Poor Max,” she drawled. “I should go get some work done, too.”

“I as well,” Cullen pulled her in for a brief kiss against her forehead. “Are you planning on taking over my office again to do your work in?”

“Obviously,” she grinned. “I’ll even bring cookies. Those plain ones you like.” Stretching up onto her tiptoes, Liviana pressed her lips against his stubbled jaw, and disappeared up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max recites lines from- Song: To Celia, Ben Jonson, early 1600s, and Lines on the Arsehole, Rimbaud and Verlaine, 1870s. XD
> 
> I know it's been forever and a day since the last update! Thank you for sticking with me and reading ^_^. Still trying to figure out where this next arc is going, hopefully I'll be able to solidify it soon. Should be a good one :)


	72. A Shadow from the Past

“A dragon! Did you see that, Boss? A high dragon!”

“Down, Bull,” Liviana groaned. “This one is out in the literal middle of nowhere. It’s safe to leave it be.”

“But- but-”

“We’ve just killed two of them in the last month,” she spluttered. “Haven’t you had your fill yet?”

“Aw, I thought you liked killing them too,” the Iron Bull pouted. 

Shaking her head at that incongruous sight of the massive Qunari slumping in his saddle the same as a toddler might, Liviana just sighed. “I don’t mind killing people who deserve it, or wild creatures that attack us. But the dragon is just there, minding its own business, not harming anyone besides whatever Venatori that will be left after we get through with them.”

“But-”

“But,” she interrupted his protest. “There’s that dragon in the Graves, and I’ve been worried about the refugees that have been congregating there in larger numbers since we cleared the Freemen out. So if you really want, we can go kill that one on our way back to Skyhold.”

“You’re the best, Boss,” the Qunari grinned, his eye still transfixed on the dragon high above in the sky, beating its wings through the sandy air. “That one is such a pretty one, though.”

“Yes, let’s go kill it because it’s pretty,” Dorian huffed. “I honestly don’t know what I see in you.”

“I can think of a few things,” Liviana smirked, pointedly eyeing Bull’s crotch. “Or one large thing.”

“Gross,” Sera made a show of gagging.

Much to Liviana’s horror, the more time she spent with the Tevinter altus, the more she liked him. It was easy to understand why even Cullen had struck up a friendship with the mage; he was dry, sarcastic, and good-natured despite his heritage and upbringing. As well as entirely cognizant of the shortcomings of his countrymen, and willing to stand against them. That took a different sort of courage, to fight against the status quo, to disrupt the baseline just because you knew it was wrong. It would have been easier for him to stay in Tevinter, turn a blind eye to Corypheus or even ally with the would-be god, as so many others had. But he risked it all to ally with the Inquisition, even when he knew he was not tolerated, just because it was the right thing to do. And for that, she respected the man. Who knew, perhaps one day she would even call him friend.

“It’s a wonder I find any of you palatable,” Dorian huffed a dramatic sigh. “Such crude humor. What does the Commander see in you?”

Cocking her head to one side, Liviana just grinned. “I do this one thing with my tongue, and he reeeally likes it, and-”

“Agh!” Dorian threw his hands up in the air, trying his best to hide his smile. “I don’t need details! Actually, wait. Yes I do.”

“And you call me a lecher,” the Iron Bull chuckled. “Trying to get more ideas, Dorian? And here I thought I was doing a sufficient job with my tongue. After last night, after we-”

“Oh look camp!” Sera called out loudly. “Next person who says anything ‘bout a danglebag gets an arrow in the face.”

Giggling, Liviana patted her horse’s neck as she slid down to the sandy ground. Dawn was rapidly approaching, bathing the hostile Wastes in pale golden light. The world always seemed so much larger out here in the desert; nothing but rock and sand surrounded their tiny camp for leagues, and she almost felt like the pink and gold sky would swallow her whole. Shaking her head to clear it of that disconcerting notion, she handed the reins to nearby scout.

“Report from Skyhold, Inquisitor.”

She unfurled the scroll, and immediately burst out laughing. “Oy, what is it?” Sera peeked over her shoulder.

“Rilla,” Liviana managed to choke out. “She’s created some sort of food diary for Cullen, and has documented precisely how many bites of each ingredient he did not finish on any given day. Under Max’s advice, I believe, to encourage the Commander to be more forthcoming with his ailments.”

“That’s good for him,” Bull nodded. “He needs to eat, keep himself healthy, and not work himself to the bone like he always does when you leave Skyhold.”

“You mean he gets worse when I leave?” She glanced up. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“You’re good for him,” Bull replied. “Make him take breaks, and he laughs and smiles more when you’re in residence. When you leave, all he does is work. From before sunrise to midnight, sometimes even later. He’s scared something will happen to you that he could have prevented. It’s sweet.”

“That idiot,” she mumbled, even as it made her heart warm. “What do you have there, Dorian?”

“Mostly drivel,” the mage sniffed. He had a collection of tomes and loose sheets of parchment scattered in a semicircle around him, various rocks weighing the paper down to the sand. “Notes on the excavations, slave manifests-” Liviana scowled at that last bit- “But there are some interesting records of procedures a few Venatori did on red lyrium. I’ll look them over and send them on to Dagna and Maxwell after.”

“Speaking of those excavations,” one of the scouts piped up. “We’ve located another site towards the north, here,” she pointed at map she held in her hands. "There’s also a sizeable Venatori camp in the area, further back in the mountains.”

“That’s a long walk,” Sera whistled, craning her neck over Liviana’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Liviana sighed. “And we’re going to have to climb most of it on foot. Path’s too steep for the horses.” Sera just blew a raspberry at the Inquisitor in response, and collapsed onto the sand. Rolling her eyes at the elf’s antics, Liviana grabbed her empty waterskin and traded it out for a full one, her eyes scanning the edge of the camp until she spotted the newcomers at the edge where the healers had set up. With a friendly smile, she approached them and crouched down next to a woman’s bedroll. “How is everyone doing?”

“Better, thanks to you, Inquisitor,” someone coughed. “Although a few of us had questions.”

“Marcus,” another hissed. “Don’t!”

“It’ll be fine, Bellona,” Marcus muttered back. “The Inquisitor killed our old masters, and they’ve treated us well so far. I don’t think they’ll harm us. Will you, domina?”

Liviana almost fell over. “Don’t call me that,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, I- My name is Liviana.”

“See, she is of the Imperium,” the woman called Bellona gasped. “I told you I recognized her accent! Oh mistress, please forgive us, we didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, hey,” Liviana rushed to Bellona’s side, gently prying the former slave up from where she had thrown herself, prostrate against the rough linen upon the sand. “My name is Liviana Trevelyan. I’m from Ostwick, in the Free Marches.”

“But your accent-”

“I was a slave once, too,” she murmured gently, watching with bated breath as recognition flared in Bellona’s eyes. “In Vyrantium. I was a gladiator.”

“You escaped?” Marcus stared at her, along with several more in the group who elected to remain silent.

“I did. Years ago,” Liviana inclined her head. “But I haven’t forgotten what it was like. So what was your question, Marcus? Please, ask me anything.”

Wringing his hands together, Marcus glanced at the others, and nodded. “...Are we free?”

“Yes.”

Whispers and exhales of relief and fear greeted her proclamation, all the newly freed slaves muttering amongst themselves. “But,” a young girl in the back spoke up. “Where will we go? What will we do?”

“That is up to you,” Liviana replied. “I remember what it was like, when I first escaped. All I knew was life under my dominus, and it was… It was hard,” she sighed. “I will not lie. But whatever help you need, I and the Inquisition will provide. If you have family or a hometown you wish to return to, you will be given provisions and enough coin and transport to reach them. If you wish to remain with us, you will be given work in whatever field you desire, and paid wages, along with lodging and clothing and training and days off. You are no longer slaves, and you will not be treated as such. That much I promise you all.”

“I can cook some,” a boy who looked no older than fourteen shyly raised his hand in the back. “But I want to learn to fight. Is that- Could I-”

“Commander Cullen would welcome you as a recruit,” Liviana smiled. “We always have need of more trained soldiers.”

“All I know is how to clean,” another woman whispered, her head drooping. “But I can clean, and well, Inquisitor.”

“Liviana, please. You may join our household staff, if you wish, then,” she said. “It’s entirely up to you. You can go, and with our blessing, or stay and help us win this fight. No job is worth more than another, from the stablehands and scullery maids to me and my advisors, and all are needed to keep the Inquisition running smoothly.”

In the end, all of this group elected to remain with the Inquisition; having been born into slavery, they had no other place to go. When the next supply caravan came to the Wastes, she would send them back to Skyhold. It was a familiar enough routine for her now. Wherever there were Venatori, there were always slaves, for how could the precious Tevinter mages be expected to live in such squalid conditions and fend for themselves? Who would cook for them, clean their chamberpots, mend their clothes? Not to mention all the labor that was needed to clear out the excavation sites. But this time, Liviana didn’t mind. For that meant for every Venatori she killed, she could at least free two slaves and give them a new start. 

Grabbing a spare sheet of paper, Liviana scratched a quick note to her advisors with the numbers of new arrivals they should prepare for, and a brief status update. And Max… He had written her a short letter as well, mainly just ramblings about Cullen’s treatments and whatever research he was working on. Everything had been so busy these last several weeks that she hadn’t been able to spend as much time with him. And it hurt. It hurt to be around him, it hurt to be away. To know that he was living on borrowed time, that he might be lost to her soon-

 _No. We’ll find a way to cure him, or he’ll become a Grey Warden._ But even that was a death sentence. To die alone in the Deep Roads surrounded by darkspawn? She wanted a better end for her brother than that. They had to find _something_. He deserved a future. But there was nothing she could do out here to help him, besides finish dismantling the Venatori’s pet projects, to ensure that there was a world left for her brother and everyone else to inhabit after everything was said and done. 

Ducking into her tent, Liviana quickly stripped off her armor and dipped a cloth in the tepid bucket of water she had, scrubbing as much of the sand and sweat as she could off her skin. The sun was already rising, the temperature in the tent rising by the minute. It made for miserable sleeping conditions, but it was better than frying by traveling during the day. A few hours of sleep, then as soon as it began to set again, they could be off into the mountains. And be one step closer to going home.

*** 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing that,” Liviana grimaced as the corpses settled back down once more, the last vestiges of Dorian’s mana fading. “It’s unnerving. Useful, but creepy.”

“Very creepy,” Sera muttered. “Can’t you just light them all on fire instead of being all oooh!” She wiggled her arms in a pantomime of a marionette dancing on strings.

“I could,” Dorian shrugged. “But it’s more fun to watch them scream when their dear, dead friend starts to chase them.”

“That part is amusing,” Liviana agreed. “I thought that last guy was going to shit his pants. Alright, let’s get all these bodies burned and see if there’s anything worth taking in the camp. I saw a few slaves up at the southwestern quadrant near the wagons. There has to be more in a camp this size. Split up and search.”

Heading to the right, the Iron Bull dug through the remnants of the dead Venatori belongings, sorting them into several piles. Some were just materials, things like canvas and wood that could be used by the Inquisition. There were also books full of notes, research, spells; those he set aside for Dorian to browse through to determine what they would keep and what was useless. The rest went into a final pile to be burned alongside the bodies.

With one hand, he pushed the flap to the largest tent in this area open, pausing a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. There was someone in here. A slave? Or had they missed one of the mages? Hefting his axe off his back, the Iron Bull slowly crept forward. 

“Hello?” he called. “Anyone back here?” Iron rattled against wood along with the sound of feet scurrying back in the sand. Sniffing the air, Bull lowered his weapon. Fear, dread. That’s what he smelled in the air, the acrid tang coating his nostrils. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. “My name is the Iron Bull. I’ve come with the Inquisition to stop the Venatori. We’re here to help.”

“Inquisition?” He heard a faint voice ask from behind a stack of crates. “The organization led by the former slave with the mark on her hand?”

“That’s the one,” he nodded. “Are you a slave?”

“I am.” More shifting, more clanging, and then he saw her. A dark eye peeked from around the corner. “Wait. You’re a Qunari.”

“Good eye,” Bull chuckled.

The woman frowned, an elf, he realized as her hair slid back and the tip of her ear showed as she scooted forward. “And what are you doing with the slaves?”

“Freeing everyone,” he replied. “If you want to go somewhere, Boss will give you supplies and coin to get there. Or if you wanted to stay with us, and help, you would get paid.”

“Boss,” the woman replied uneasily. “You mean the Inquisitor?”

“Liviana, she prefers to be called.”

“Maker and Mythal,” she whispered, her cheek sagging against the rough wood. “I had heard, but never imagined… She’s here. She’s really here.”

“Bull? Are you in here?” Dorian poked his head in. “Ah, there you are. Found anything interesting?”

“Tevinter,” the elf hissed, skittering back in the sand, the chains jangling against each other. “I knew it was too good to be true. You’re lying to me! Liviana is not here, you’re not with the Inquisition. She would never ally with one of you! Get away from me!”

“You know the Boss?” Bull’s gaze swung over to her, his eye watching as she glared with heated venom at the pair. “Dorian- go get her. And pass me a torch?”

“At once,” Dorian disappeared for a second, slipping back in just long enough to hand a lit torch to the Qunari, and left again.

“So, you know our Inquisitor,” Bull sat cross-legged a few paces away from the wary elf, maintaining a light conversational tone as the flame cast dancing shadows on the walls. “I’m guessing you knew her from when she was still in Tevinter?” No answer. “Were you a gladiator as well?” Silence. Sighing, Bull scratched at the base of his horn. “Well, I’m the Iron Bull. That was Dorian Pavus. He is from Tevinter, but he’s not one of the Venatori. He’s a good guy, in fact, as impossible as it seems.” The woman’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “And there’s another girl, an archer. Name’s Sera. Funny little spitfire, and a crackshot with her bow. And you are?” More staring. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll just-”

“Bull? Dorian said you needed me?” 

“Yeah, Boss,” Bull motioned her in. “Think we found someone you know.”

“Someone I know?” Liviana frowned, the rough canvas of the tent flap slipping through her fingers as she stepped into the dim tent. “Who would I know- No.” Her eyes flew open, her hand clamping over her gaping mouth. Shaking her head, she took an inadvertent step back. “It can’t be, I thought- You survived?”

“It is you,” the woman breathed, her own eyes wide and unblinking as well. “But you have a Tevinter mage with you. How can you…?”

“It’s a long story,” Liviana murmured, her features stricken, slowly walking towards the elf. “I waited. By the river for days, and no one ever showed. I was sure they had killed everyone, Naella.”

“I’m a mage,” Naella replied warily, still watching the Iron Bull behind guarded eyes. “Too precious to kill, remember? Did you kill everyone else within the camp?”

“We did,” Liviana murmured. Her gaze dropped to the delicate chains that linked Naella’s wrists together, as well as her ankles, restricting her range of motion just enough. “It’s enchanted, isn’t it?” A curt nod was her answer. “We’ll need help to get it off, then.”

“Obviously,” Naella snorted dryly. “So, Inquisitor, now is it? Fancy title. So should I call you my lady? Your Worship? Would you prefer if I grovel or is simply bowing acceptable?”

“Stop,” Liviana grimaced. “Maker, none of those. I have a name. Feel free to use only that.”

“Liviana.” The barest ghost of a smile flit across her face. “That is good to know. What happened to the little girl, by the way? The one that started all this?”

Liviana started, having not thought of that child in many years now. “Mara. I left her in the care of another clan we came across who swore they would return her to her family. She seemed happy enough to stay with them.”

“I should tell you,” Naella said quietly as Liviana helped her to her feet. “Calliope- The guards captured her, and healed her just enough. We were thrown into the same dungeon together. She took full responsibility for the entire thing.”

The ground dropped out from beneath her, her feet staggering back of their own accord. Calliope had lived. And Liviana had just… run. Barely breathing, her eyes unseeing, Liviana gripped the edge of the crate that had caught her, feeling the splinters dig into her skin like dozens of tiny knives. _She lived. And I left. And she took responsibility for it all, which means they- Maker. Of course she did. That is just like her, so- so- Cal. All this time, I held out hope that your death was at least swift. But it wasn’t, was it?_ “...We should go,” she rasped. Now was not the time. “You’ll be able to rest back at camp, and then we can get you to Skyhold to see about getting those chains off you. Or could any mage remove them?”

“If you consort with any blood mages, perhaps,” Naella replied scathingly. “Do you, Victorem?”

“No,” Liviana’s dark eyes flashed in the torchlight. “Never.”

“Then, no.”

“We have a dwarven arcanist who’s a genius with enchantments and this sort of thing. If anyone can get it off, it’s her. Will you come with us?”

“Like I have a choice,” Naella muttered.

“You do,” Liviana replied gently. “From now on, as long as it is within my power to give, you will have a choice in your own fate, Naella. You’re not a slave any longer.”

“I’m… free…?” The younger woman blinked, stunned as the implication of her situation finally dawned upon her and the weight settled around her shoulders. “I- I don’t know what I could do. I’ve been serving as a household slave to my dominus, just using the little magicks allowed to me. These,” she raised the cord around her wrists, “Prevent me from casting anything stronger. I doubt you’d want me in your army; I won’t ever be an effective soldier after- after everything,” she choked out. 

Liviana offered a sympathetic smile that was part grimace. “You don’t have to decide now. I have friends, friends who are mages. My brother, he is a mage. You could help him in his research for now, until you found something you liked better.”

“You have friends who are mages,” Naella shook her head. “You. Unbelievable. Alright, Victorem. I will go with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin the next arc! Weeeeeeee


	73. Across the Desert

Naella kept to herself mostly, as the other slaves the Inquisition had rescued stayed far away from the mage for even though they had been all bound to their masters, even the slaves had their own hierarchies. And in the Imperium, the mages were always at the top. The new additions spent most of their time resting, such a mundane thing as sleep having been rarely afforded to them before. And most of them desperately needed it, along with a few others who had injuries they refused to have healed by magic. Liviana thought about sending for a healer from Griffon Wing, but by the time a healer arrived, they would be packing up in the Wastes and heading out, so she decided to just push herself and her team instead in the hunt for Fairel’s Tomb.

Which, unfortunately, gave her plenty of time to think.

Calliope had survived. For awhile, at least, and Liviana had run. Logic told her that if she had gone back for her, she would be dead along side her friend, as would the child. But logic had no place in this. Guilt and shame threatened to swallow her whole, drag her bodily underneath the burning sand, choke the air from her lungs as if one of the giant snakes from Rivain had her within its grip. For she knew what the magisters did to slaves who dared rebel against their masters; torture wasn’t even the half of it. For a slave who did not even have the paltry protection of possessing magic to save them, for a slave who dared kill her dominus-

Liviana wanted to throw up. Scream. Rip something to shreds, immerse herself in neverending battle, fling herself off the nearest cliff. It wasn’t _fair_. Nothing in this world was, but now? Now everything was tainted. Her freedom, her prestige, the power and accolades heaped upon her as Inquisitor, her friends’ loyalty, her family’s care, even Cullen’s love-

It was all bought with blood and fear. Calliope’s blood. Before, she had just thought her new life was paid for with her friend’s life. But this, this was so much more. And she was not sure if she could bear it.

“The dragon is in the way,” she stared down at the valley below them. 

“If we stick to the edges, we could probably sneak around it,” Dorian pointed out.

Liviana just nodded and gave a halfhearted shrug. “Let’s go.”

Trying to be as stealthy as possible, Liviana and the others crept around the edges of the ancient, sandy courtyard, keeping one eye locked onto the sleeping high dragon in the center. Loose rock and sand littered the high ledge, and motioning for the others to be careful, she inched her way past. A boulder ground against the stone behind her. Whirling around, Liviana could only stare as a large rock slipped free of the plateau, and clattered down the slope, slamming right into the dragon’s claw. Leaving a mystified Qunari, blinking innocently back at her, his hands held up in the air.

“It was... an accident?”

“I hate you. Do you know that?”

“Sorry, Dorian,” Bull grinned. “Hey look, the dragon’s awake now. And looking right at us, how about that?”

“I should just feed you to the fucking thing,” Liviana hissed under her breath even as she was grateful for the distraction. “Come on, let’s go kill it.”

It was a sooty and singed group that stumbled back into camp several hours later, all of them sporting various nicks and bruises from their battle. Collapsing down by the fire with a pained groan, Liviana flopped next to Sera, both of them too sore to move any further.

“You look like kaffas,” Naella remarked conversationally from where she lay at the far edge of the circle of tents, her flippant words eliciting horror and dismay from the other former slaves.

Liviana glanced down at herself, noting with a faint grimace the layer of blood that covered her armor. “Feel like it too,” she muttered. “How do you feel?”

“Odd. I don’t think I’ve been this idle since… ever, really,” she replied, her eyes darting warily from Dorian to the Iron Bull. “It doesn’t seem real yet. That I’m free.”

Nodding, Liviana scooted a bit closer. “It will take some time. So, we’ve still got a few hours before sunrise. Normally, I’d stay and help break down camp and leave at sunset, but we need to get Erastus especially, but the others as well, to a proper healer as soon as possible. So as soon as I can grab my stuff, we’ll set out for Griffon Wing.”

"Why are you telling me?"

"Just so you know," Liviana shrugged.

It took hardly any time for her to change into a cleaner tunic and breeches, refasten her armor, and grab her pack. So many months of constant traveling meant that she had it down to an artform, with no movement wasted or unnecessary. Strapping her bag to her saddle, Liviana watched from the corner of her eye as the other slaves spat curses at Naella’s feet, the mage ignoring their ire and venom as she attempted to climb into the back of the cart despite her bindings.

Dammit, she sighed. I should have expected this. “Naella,” Liviana called out as she approached, her voice pitched so it would not carry to the others. “Would you be more comfortable riding on the horses? You could ride with me, or the Iron Bull.”

Naella paused, on hand on the edge of the wagon. “He is not like the other Qunari,” she stated flatly as he stood a few paces away and pretended to not listen.

“No, he is not,” Liviana shook her head. “I think you will find, that outside of the Imperium, people are rarely who they ought to be.”

“Fascinating,” Naella muttered in a tone that indicated she found it anything but. “I think I will ride in the wagon with the others, Inquisitor.”

“Liviana.”

Abruptly nodding once, Naella turned back to the cart and, ignoring any offers for help, managed to shimmy herself up into a seat.

“Ready to go, Boss?” The Iron Bull called. “Dorian and I will take the back, if you want to go on ahead.”

“Ah, actually,” Liviana noticed as more than a few of the former slaves stiffened. “Take point. Raymond and Orent can bring up the rear,” she nodded to two of the soldiers nearby. Having a Tevinter mage and a Qunari at their back would be too much to bear right now for them all. “Is everyone ready? Let’s get a move on, then.”

Swinging up into her saddle, Liviana and the others set a steady pace, determined to cross as much space as possible before the sun made travel unbearable. With memories of the past swirling in her mind, images of fires and demons and blood dancing across her vision, she rode in silence until the temperature rose, made camp, slept for a few hours, and set out again, speaking only when absolutely necessary.

It was on the morning before they reached Griffon Wing that Naella finally spoke. “So what did you do? After you left.”

“So much,” Liviana murmured, startled out of her reverie as the mage settled herself beside her on the sand. “I headed south, across the Minanter and into Nevarra. Met that clan of Dalish in the woods in the Free Marches and left Mara with them. From there, I traveled everywhere. The Marches, Orlais, Antiva, working as a sell-sword for a couple of years. It was… boring. I got bored. Guarding caravans and killing bandits. I ended up staying Kirkwall for a bit. There was another escaped slave, and I became friends with him, and a few others. Varric is the only one still with me, he’s back at Skyhold.”

“Are these the mage friends you were referring to?” Naella nibbled delicately at her jerky.

“Varric’s a dwarf. And the rest...” Sighing, Liviana reached up to tug on her braid. “There are some mages I count as my friends- well, like two, I think. Maybe three. It took me a long time to trust them. Between the Imperium, and the blood mages in Kirkwall, it was… difficult.”

“Kirkwall,” Naella’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible. “I heard a bit about that. Wasn’t there a mage rebellion? Or something?”

Liviana told her as much as she thought the other woman would want to hear. About Anders, Hawke. About the southern templars and the Grand Cleric and Meredith, the Right of Annulment and the red lyrium. She described the trip she had taken that led her to Volesus, sketching over the years she had passed in Ostwick trying to pass for nobility, to disastrous results. And she told her about the Temple of the Sacred Ashes. Of the demons and rifts, Alexius and Haven. Corypheus. Adamant. Halamshiral.

“That is… I don’t even know,” Naella whispered as Liviana fell silent. “It sounds impossible, but I know it’s true. I’ve heard about the Elder One and Magister Alexius. I’ve seen the rifts and the demons. I saw what the magisters, the Venatori were doing with the red lyrium. Some of them went mad from handling it, and the slaves who were infected-” she shuddered. “They were sent away, and we never knew what happened to them.”

“I know,” Liviana replied just as quietly. “It was not pleasant. I freed as many as I could, but the ones who were already infected…”

Fingers traced idle swirls through the sand, the jerky laying forgotten across her knee as Naella stared into the crackling fire, watching as the others ate and talked amongst themselves. “You have been doing this awhile, then? Freeing all the slaves? The Qunari said you were giving coin to the ones who wanted to leave, and hiring the rest.”

“I am. The offer is the same for you,” Liviana glanced aside at her. “If you wish to go, coin and provisions will be given to you, and you can travel with one of the caravans anywhere you want. Or, if you’d prefer to stay with us, you’ll have a job. Steady wages, the same as everyone else, lodgings, anything you need. It’s entirely up to you.”

“I’m not really sure what to do,” she murmured, folding her hands into her lap. “The idea of having a choice is unnerving. Just give me a job, and I’ll do it.”

“I’m not going to order you around,” Liviana scowled at a space between boots, watching as a tiny beetle ambled across the sand. “You’re not a slave any longer, Naella. I won’t decide your future for you.”

Naella paused a moment before she sighed. “That night, after we were all separated, I stayed with Cassius until we were cornered. I took down as many as I could, but it was still too much, and I’ve never been a particularly strong caster. I was wounded, and thought they would kill me on the spot, or let me bleed out on the streets but they didn’t. They took me in, healed me- to torture later, I assumed. And I was right. It was… I don’t even know how long it lasted. Time really didn’t make sense for a while. I figured when they got bored, they’d give me a public execution, maybe toss me in the arena to make an example of me along with the others. But…” Her voice faltered. “Calliope. She confessed to murdering Varinius. Swore that she forced the rest of us to join her, that she was the sole driving force behind the entire rebellion, and in the end it was her they strung up in the square for the crows to feast on. I was sold to the mines, along with Helena and a few others. I stayed there for awhile, but my new dominus, one of the Venatori, took the healthier slaves with him when they came south. Despite everything, I was still strong, still in decent shape, thanks to my training, I guess.”

“And Helena?” Liviana dared ask when she hesitated.

“Helena- The red lyrium, she-” Naella shook her head, her dark hazel eyes clouding over, and Liviana wished she had not asked. “She’s gone. We’ve been down here for almost a year now. I heard whisperings about the Inquisition, how a woman who was rumored to be Tevinter was working against the Elder One. Then I heard she was a runaway slave. I didn’t dare imagine… Someone said your name the other week. They were worried you’d come here.”

“And now they’re dead.”

Naella didn’t say anything else for several minutes after that, until Liviana realized her arms were trembling around her shoulders, her fingers digging into the rough linen of her simple robe. “Hey, Naella? I’m right here, alright?”

“It’s over now, isn’t it?” she managed to gasp between her tears, huge sobs wracking her frail frame. “It’s really over, and I’m- I’m free. And you’re here, and I’m free.”

“You are. This is real,” Liviana twisted around to tentatively touch her shoulder, uncertain if any more physical contact would be welcome. “You are safe, and I will tear anyone apart who even thinks about taking you back.”

“I’m sorry,” Naella raised the edge of her sleeve to wipe her face. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Freedom,” Liviana smiled. “It does strange things to a person.”

“You’re not at all how I remember you,” she sniffed. “You have changed. A great deal.”

“Time and circumstance,” Liviana replied with a small sigh. “I had to. There was really no other option. In order to be true to the person I was discovering myself to be, I had to change. So we should reach Griffon Wing tomorrow. I’ve sent word ahead, so they’re expecting us. We’ll rest there for a night, leave the ones who need a healer there, and leave for Skyhold the day after. I’m sure you’re anxious to get out of those.”

“I am,” Naella stroked the silken cord, feeling the telltale buzz of the enchantments along the pads of her fingers. What it would feel like to be completely untethered, truly free- She could not even imagine.

*** 

Naella stiffened as she heard the call go up at their approach, the rumble of the massive iron gate rising echoing across the desert sand. Tightening her grip on her own wrists to hide the trembling in her hands, she sat with her spine ramrod straight in the wagon as it clattered past the walls.

“Inquisitor,” a broad man with dark lines tattooed upon his face saluted along with the rest of the soldiers. “Welcome back to Griffon Wing.”

“Captain Rylen,” Liviana replied formally, returning his salute. “How go things here?”

“Can’t complain,” the man shrugged. “Are these them?”

“Yes. Everyone,” she inclined her head to those in the wagon, “This is Captain Rylen Kinnaird, the commander of this keep and a good friend of mine. You’ll be under his care while you recuperate here, and until you are able well enough to be escorted to Skyhold.” 

“It’s an honor to welcome you all to Griffon Wing,” Rylen nodded at each one in turn, his gaze lingering slightly on the mage that sat apart from the rest and the silvery fabric that ensconced her wrists. “May I help you down, my lady?”

Naella’s gaze jerked up as his voice approached her, her eyes narrowing into slits. She did not appreciate being mocked, when it was clear as daylight what she really was. “No, you may not.”

Snorting, Liviana swung her leg over the saddle and gracefully dismounted, casting an unspoken shrug his way as Naella continued to glare at Rylen, who carefully took a step back, watching her with more than a little curiosity. “This is Naella, Rylen. We lived together, back in the Imperium, before- before everything.”

Rylen sketched a short bow. “Pleasure to meet you, lass. Bryant, Lonnie, go make sure the healers are ready,” he ordered a few of the men. “You men there, help the others to the tent and show the rest their quarters. Inquisitor, will your friend…?”

“Find her something a bit more out of the way if you would, Ry,” Liviana replied softly.

“I don’t need special treatment,” Naella shot back with some heat.

“I know,” Liviana’s smile was dry. “But you don’t deserve to be spat at, either.”

“I’ve got an empty room you’d be welcome to,” Rylen said. “If you’d follow me?”

Sensing the woman’s unease, Liviana set about pointing out various features of the keep as they passed them, taking a page from her brother’s book and chattered to just fill the silence, detailing the surrounding land as well. “Nothing really out here except varghests and darkspawn. There was a dragon, but we already killed that. Cullen, ah, my Commander, you’ll meet him back at Skyhold later, was not pleased about it.”

“Speaking of Rutherford…” Rylen grinned.

Covering her face with the palm of her hand, Liviana groaned. “What? What did he say?”

“He’s none to pleased about the dragon in the Wastes, let’s just put it like that.”

“That’s because he’s a boring, ridiculous, grandmother of a stick in the ground, and ugh. Do you still have the letter? Why haven’t you burned it yet? I’m not reading it. If he wants to yell at me, he can just not.”

“You don’t sound very fond of your Commander,” Naella frowned down at her feet, taking care to not trip over the stones.

“Ach, they’re madly in love,” Rylen offered helpfully, chuckling. “But the Commander tends to be a wee bit of a worrier. Especially given his lady love’s penchant of fighting large beasts who have teeth and razor sharp claws the same length of her body.”

“It’s part of my job,” she protested. “Otherwise, the damn things would eat the very people we’re trying to save. And that last one was not my fault. Bull threw a rock at it. On accident, apparently.”

“Accident, eh?” Rylen laughed. “He’s battier than you, and that’s saying something.”

“I should demote you. What’s worse than the desert? Orlais? Maybe that outpost past the Kocari Wilds.”

“You’re too fond of me to do that,” he grinned amicably.

Naella found this whole exchange to be fascinating. And…

Infuriating.

While she had spent the last seven years in literal chains, her skin burning and blistering from the scorching sun in the quarry, Liviana had been making friends. Learning to smile, laugh. Falling in love. _Fenhedis, she said she had been_ bored. _When it was her and Calliope that started all of this! It’s because of her they tortured me, that I was sent to the quarries. And now she’s the fucking Inquisitor? People bowing and groveling at her feet, and she just acts like it’s the most natural fucking thing in the world._

“This should do,” Liviana nodded to herself as Rylen pushed open a door to a small room holding a simple cot and table. “What do you think, Naella?”

“It’s fine,” Naella gritted out in a clipped voice. Liviana started, taken aback by the amount of sudden venom in her voice and piercing gaze.

“Ah, alright,” she took a step back. “Would you prefer to rest? Or I could show you around, if you want?”

“Actually, Liv, there’s a wee bit of a situation,” Rylen hedged, bracing for his Inquisitor’s ire. “We finally got the path cleared to those mountains in the northeast, and found where the darkspawn have been coming from. The last patrol we sent up there should have been back last night, and never showed. I was about to lead another expedition up there today, but now that you’re here...”

“Fucking darkspawn,” she grumbled. “And fucking you, pushing this off on me.”

“I know,” Rylen grinned, not in the slightest bit cowed by his superior. 

A flash of anxiety shot up through Naella’s chest, drowning out the rage for now. “You’re leaving? But if the Venatori come back, will we be safe here?”

“Rylen and his troops are well equipped to defend the keep and its inhabitants,” Liviana soothed. 

“But against mages?”

Her gaze flicked between Rylen, a guarded expression on her face. Sighing, she decided it would be best to tell Naella now. “Rylen’s a templar. As are several others. They are of the southern variety, which means they can disrupt a mage’s casting and purge their mana. The Venatori will have no hold here. He’ll keep you safe, I swear on his life.”

“Thanks,” Rylen replied dryly.

“Templar?” All the color drained from Naella’s face. “H-he- I-”

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Rylen vowed solemnly, his fist held over his heart, aqua eyes piercing. “I swear it on my life. Also,” he added with a scowl towards Liviana, “I’m not technically a templar any longer. I left the Order. I do still maintain the abilities, but my main job now is to protect and defend Griffon Wing.”

Naella just stared, the only movement that showed on her body the pulse fluttering wildly in the hollow of her throat.

Pausing as she stood, Liviana just considered her for a moment. “Naella. If he tries anything, he drags his right foot a second slower than the left. And he’s got an old injury in his left knee that makes him a bit stiff if he’s been sitting too long-”

“Hey, now-”

“-I’ll go round up the others and get a team to go search for the patrol,” she added towards Rylen, ignoring the way he frowned down at her. 

“There’s a few other things I need to brief you on,” Rylen made to follow her out. “If you need anything, Naella, please let me know.” Closing the door behind him, he jogged a bit to catch up with Liviana, his brow furrowed. “Was that wise to tell her my weaknesses like that? I mean, she doesn’t seem all that friendly.”

“She’s still adjusting Ry, give her time,” Liviana murmured. “And she’s just one mage. The bindings on her wrists dampen her magic as well. I don’t believe you’d be in any real danger from her.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he grumbled. “I don’t fancy being hamstrung for no bloody reason.”

“Just guard your back,” Liviana gave him a weak smile. “Consider it payback for making me do this. I’m going to go grab a bite, then assemble a team. I’ll find you before I head out.”

Running her palm against the back of her neck, grimacing at the amount of sweat and salt and sand that caked her skin, she watched as Rylen nodded, and trotted off in the opposite direction. A heavy sigh pulled down at her shoulders. Memories, traumas long suppressed, had all resurfaced the night she had found Naella. It was to be expected; seeing the girl- woman now- brought back all those long years she had served at the ludus. The night they had escaped.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing her palms against the rough sandstone. Calliope. Naella said she had taken the blame for it all, knowing full well what would be her fate for inciting a rebellion, for killing the dominus. Not just death, no. To be thrown armed with only a single dagger into the arena, forced to be the prey and spectacle for the bloodthirsty crowds. To be beaten, torn, dragged through the dirt until she was just barely hanging onto life by a thread. And then, to be strung up in the square for the crows to feast on, to die at the hands of animals. To die helpless.

And Naella, and Helena, and others- they had all been sold to the quarries. It was backbreaking work, only fit for the lowest of the low. Criminals, enemies of the Archon, traitors, rebellious slaves who were no longer of any use or value. Where the poor vermin only knew of the sun and salt and lash, day in and day out until they collapsed into the sand and died where they stood. At least Cassius had died that night. Helena…

Liviana shook her head to clear it of the image of the woman, impaled to the ground upon a shard of red lyrium, waiting in paralyzed horror as the jagged crystals slowly spread throughout her living corpse, but it was impossible. It was all she could see now. Calliope’s broken body tied up for all to see. Helena lying in a heap with all those other wretched souls she had seen in the Emprise. The rage and vitriol that had suddenly blazed within Naella’s eyes. No, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Liviana had escaped and lived while the rest died. _It should have been me, not Cal. Not Naella, or Helena, or Cassius._

She had her family back, love in her life. Cullen. Max. Her friends, Varric, Rylen, Cassandra, Isabela. And the others received nothing, no, worse than nothing. And now she was taking Naella to Skyhold, where the woman would see everything she didn’t have. The shame and loathing, burning, suffocating, rose again to claw at her throat, the edges of her vision darkening until she could just barely see her feet before her. Naella would despise her, as she should. Everything Liviana had was a lie.

How was she ever going to face herself again?


	74. A Different Start

The air had turned brisk and cold with autumn fully upon them now. It would not be long before the first snow would arrive, and with it, the heavy drifts and ice that would coat the surrounding mountains and passes. It was just as well he was confined to the keep; Max had no desire to go traipsing about in such weather, much more content to remain inside where there were luxuries such as blankets and fires. Poor Cat. He knew his sister hated this weather, even more than he, although it now affected him more.

Shivering as a sudden chill struck him, Max pulled the thick woolen blanket around his shoulders more firmly. And sighed as he caught a glimpse of his arm and the sluggish blackness within. His veins grew darker under his fragile skin as each week passed and they came no closer to a cure. Dorian and Cassandra were both frantic and determined to find something, anything, and ancient, dusty tomes from every corner of Thedas arrived almost daily, promising vague hints and empty hopes. The Ferelden Grey Warden, Nathaniel Howe, assisted as much as his duties allowed him as well, offering up his tainted blood along with Max’s for Dagna and Dorian’s odd experiments. Experiments that were kept quiet, with only a precious few in the know lest someone accuse them of blood magic. Howe. Dagna. Dorian. Max. Leliana. Those were only ones who knew of the arcanist’s secret tests, not even Liviana was informed. As much as his sister loved him, Max was not sure if her past would allow these tests to continue if she knew there was blood involved. 

_But it’s not like we’re using the blood to fuel the spells. We’re casting on the blood itself, there’s a difference. A difference that would be utterly lost on the general populace, who would only hear blood and magic and panic and demand our Tranquility, or death._

Max himself was hesitant at first as well, for hadn’t he promised his sister he’d never resort to blood magic? He shook his head. _This could help so much more than just me, though. The likelihood that I’ll die before we find anything of substance is pretty high, I know that. But if our research could help someone, someday, isn’t that enough?_

Maker, he was tired. Leaning his head back against the worn cushion behind him, Max let his eyelids, heavy and thick, flutter shut for just a few moments.

A thud, followed by a bracing cough, reverberated off a wooden surface nearby. Jerking his chin up, Max sighed as he caught sight of Rilla slamming down a stack of books with a soft grunt.

“Sorry!” Rilla yelped. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘S fine,” Max yawned. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. This the shipment from Dairsmuid?”

Tentatively poking through the dusty pages, most of them yellowed with age, Rilla nodded. “Yup. I can sort them for you, if you’d like. So you can rest more. Healer Nadia said you need lots of rest. And that I shouldn’t talk so much around you, and- Oops.” 

Max noticed how everyone changed around him after everything he had been through. Rilla had become infinitely more gentle, helpful, and generally overbearing, acting like an older sister rather than the child she was. He found it mostly endearing. Liviana treated him as if he were a vase about to shatter at any moment, and despite the fact that he missed his sister, he rather thought it for the best that she was gone so much. Her vacant, pitiful stares tugged at his heart and patience in equal amounts until he ended up picking fights with her for the sake of changing her expressions into something more tolerable. His mother vacillated between hovering over him as much as she had around Liviana during those early months she had spent in Ostwick, and being too tearful to even look at him, but that was expected. His father, Cullen, and Cassandra remained mostly the same, although Cassandra was slightly more affectionate with him now. Or perhaps that was a natural result of their relationship progressing, and she was simply opening up to him more with the soft, shy smiles and sweet, lingering kisses. Either way, he definitely enjoyed that part.

And Dorian… Max’s condition affected the Tevinter mage more than he let on. After watching Felix slowly succumb to the Blight, watching his other dear friend die of the same was not very high on his list of things he wanted to do. So the altus buried himself in his work when he was in residence, spending nearly every waking moment reading or casting or doing something, anything, to keep himself busy. Not to mention the large selection of research material Dorian had taken with him on the road.

“I’ve rested enough,” Max yawned and pushed himself up a bit. “So what have we got?”

“Alchemy books I think, judging by the smell,” Rilla wrinkled her nose and offered him the topmost leatherbound tome, taking care with the edges that were cracking and peeling. “They also sent us a shipment of rare herbs and some Fade-touched metals they found. I gave those to Dagna already."

Grimacing, Max settled back into his chair. “Maker, the last potion she made tasted worse than bronto balls.”

“You’ve tasted bronto balls?” Rilla stared at him with eyes agog in equal parts horror and fascination.

“No. But I imagine it would taste worse. Is that the horn?”

Scurrying across the small alcove that Max had claimed for his own in the upper wing of the library, Rilla moved to the paned window and peered down at the courtyard. “Livvy’s back! I bet she’s covered in sand though. She hates the sand. Can we go down to see her? Can we?”

Max chuckled as he rose to stand and crossed the space to stand next to him. “You can go if you like. I’ll wait a bit, let her get settled in first. She’s probably going to make a beeline for her bath as soon as she hits the ground.” _Huh. She looks pissed._ Not that he could see her face from so far away, but the sharp angles of her stance and the way she stalked across the dirt were clear to him. _Better give her a lot of time then._

“Fine,” Rilla sulked. “I guess I’ll wait, too.”

“You can help me sort these books. Let’s see… Let’s make a stinky pile over here, and a not so stinky pile there,” he ruffled her hair with an impish grin.

“‘Kay!”

*** 

Naella was surprised to be shown to a private room. It was small and sparse, but there was an actual bed with a mattress, an empty chest of drawers for belongings she didn’t own, and a desk at which to read and write, if she had known how to do either. If she had stayed a few more years at the ludus and worked hard enough, Doctore said he would allow her to learn to read, but that had obviously never come to pass.

“The arcanist sends her apologies that she was not able to meet you straightaway,” the young servant who had guided her here said as she watched Naella float in silence around the room. “But she would like for you to come by after supper, if that’s agreeable to you.”

 _Agreeable to… me?_ “Ah, yes,” Naella stammered. “W-Where is she located?”

“In the undercroft. I’ll take you there,” the girl beamed. “My name’s Varina, by the way. The Lady Inquisitor put me at your disposal to help however I can until you’re fully settled. Skyhold’s a big place, and it’s easy to get lost here. You’re from Vyrantium, aren’t you?”

Naella paled. “How did you guess?”

“Your accent. My dominus’ lover- former, I suppose, was from Vyrantium and the slaves he brought with him all sounded like you. I’m from Qarinus. The Lady Inquisitor freed me and a few others in the Emerald Graves a few months ago, and I’ve been helping with the cleaning and laundry and such since then. It’s pretty hard work, but I like it. We all get wages, and food, and clothing, and one day off a week. And the Lady Inquisitor even arranged for reading and writing lessons for us slaves, if you want to join in. She’s amazing,” Varina sighed dreamily. “Did you know she was a slave like us, too? She was a gladiator. Which explains a lot, like how she’s such a great warrior. I saw her sparring with the Commander and the Lady Seeker awhile back at the same time and it was incredible. I mean, the way she moved, and- oh sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I? Everyone always says I do. It’s just… I was never really allowed to talk much before, you know? And now, I don’t have to worry about being punished if I- I’m doing it again. I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I’ll stop.”

“I- I don’t mind,” Naella smiled gently, for what felt like the first time in years. “Freedom does strange things to people. Liviana said that, and I guess she was right. Maker knows she’s changed. I knew her from before,” she added at Varina’s curious glance at the liberty she took with the Inquisitor's given name. “We served in the same ludus.” _Until she fucked it up and destroyed everything I had. It wasn’t a perfect life, but it was stable. At least I got revenge for my sister._

“Oh,” Varina breathed. “She escaped on her own, right?”

A derisive snort was all Naella could manage. “Hardly.”

“She didn’t?”

Naella just shrugged. “She escaped by herself. But the rest of us got killed, or left behind. Like me.”

“Oh,” Varina murmured. “But- she didn’t do it on purpose, right? Because she doesn’t seem like that type of person. She really cares about everyone here. Unless… she’s doing it out of guilt.”

As much as Naella wanted to deride the Inquisitor, the idea of lying left a bad taste in her mouth. “No,” she sighed. “It wasn’t on purpose. We were all separated, and supposed to meet up later. She said she waited for us, and I believe her.”

“That is a relief. I don’t know what I would have thought if she had intentionally left. Although, I’m also not sure I could have blamed her,” Varina muttered. “I think most of us would have done whatever we could to leave that place. Now, we have some time before I take you to the arcanist’s. Are you hungry? I can bring you something up here so you don’t have to walk around like that. Or you can have a nap, or-”

 _Liviana, did you assign me the noisiest person in this entire keep on purpose?_ Raising a hand to stem the flow of words, Naella asked, “Would there be time to do both by chance?”

“Of course! I can bring a tray up in about two bells? Won’t leave you that much time to eat, but you’re used to eating fast, right?”

“Right. Thank you, Varina.” The mattress rustled as she settled gingerly on the edge, her fingers playing idly with the silvery cord that looped around her wrists. _I wonder what Liviana would have done if she knew we had survived. If she knew Calliope had lived. I doubt she would have come back for me, or Helena, or any of the others. But would she had risked it all to come back for Calliope? Would I have gone back for anyone if had been me? Maybe, if my sister was alive still, but she’s… No. I wouldn’t have gone back for anything. I wonder what Liviana would have done._

*** 

“You’ve been awfully pensive.”

“Have I?” Letting her feet hang off the edge of the stool, Liviana kicked her legs to and fro as she watched Dagna fiddle with one of the runes on her bracer, hammering out a dent on the side. “Lot on my mind, I suppose.”

“That mage we brought back, you mean,” Dorian replied.

Liviana just shrugged. _I wonder how Naella is getting along. And if assigning Varina to her was a good idea. I thought, maybe, Varina’s more… effusive nature would help Naella relax but what if it did the opposite? What if she’s annoying her to the point where Naella freaks out? Or worse- what if Varina is going on and on about how wonderful I am? Fuck. I should have picked someone a bit more taciturn and level than her. Fuck fuck fuck-_

“And here’s the undercroft! Arcanist Dagna and Master Harrit work down here and make all the armor and enchantments for the army, and oh! Lady Inquisitor!” Varina bubbled. “I brought Naella here for Mistress Dagna. She said she would be free now.”

“I’ve still got a ways to go on finishing these repairs, but-”

“My armor can wait, Dagna,” Liviana cut in. “I’ll use my other set for now.”

“Alrighty,” Dagna chirped. “Now, let’s see what we’ve got. Naella, was it? Ooh, these are shiny. May I?”

“Sure,” Naella warily offered her wrists to the dwarf, who promptly forgot about the person attached to the cord as her entire focus narrowed to the bindings themselves.

“Hmm. These are- Wait. I’ll need… Dorian! Come look at this. Have you seen these before? This bit right here, in ancient Tevene, what does it say?”

“Ah,” Dorian’s eyes flickered from the other mage to Dagna, taking in Naella’s sudden and conspicuous ashen complexion. “I don’t think-”

“It’s fine,” Naella grumbled irritably. “I just want it off.”

Moving towards the weapons rack to give them all privacy as Dagna and Dorian conferred over the bindings, Liviana fiddled with the assortment of staves. Naella would need a staff of her own soon enough, although the woman was- or at least had been- deadly enough without. _Perhaps a spear? I think that was her preferred weapon, although I remember her being more than adequate with a shortsword as well. Maybe this one?_ Pulling out a sword, Liviana hefted the hilt and blade in her hand, tentatively swinging it through the air to test its weight.

“There! All done! That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

A thick band of pale skin, stark against the rest of her tanned complexion, was all that was left of the enchanted cords. Rubbing her wrists with wide eyes, Naella stared at her naked skin. “They’re… gone. I can feel all of my mana now.”

“Which means you’ll need a staff,” Liviana called out, a tiny smile upon her lips. “Try out these.”

Still caught in a daze, Naella drifted over to where Liviana stood and obediently stroked a finger over each haft, sending out the tiniest spark of mana into the wood to test the materials within to see if they’d mesh with her magic. “Are you sure? A staff… Just for me?”

“You’ve lived your entire life unable to properly defend yourself,” she replied softly. “I think it’s time to change that, don’t you? How’s that feel?”

As if cradling a newborn infant, Naella gently picked a staff made of ironbark, a gift from one of the Dalish clans that the Inquisition had dealt with. “This… The weight is perfect, but something is off. I’m not sure what.”

“Hmm,” Liviana took the staff that she offered. “You’re a fire mage, right? Master Harrit! Do we still have some dawnstone lying around?”

“Aye,” the grizzled old blacksmith nodded. “Give me two days, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you. In the meantime, you liked shortswords right?” Passing a silverite blade to the stunned mage, Liviana smiled. “I seem to remember you were quite skilled at this, and the spear.”

“It’s been so long,” Naella murmured. “I’m not sure how much I remember.”

“I’m sure you remember more than you think,” Liviana assured her. And swiped another blade up in a sweeping arc, only to have it blocked by an entirely startled and defensive Naella. “See?” she grinned. A few more thrust and parries on her part were all met with equal force, and soon both women were openly smiling. “The body remembers. By the way, have you taken any time to think about what you’d like to do here? No? The Commander might have some ideas, if you’d like to come with me.”

Nodding, Naella accepted the belt and scabbard that Harrit found for her and sheathed her new sword at her side, following Liviana out of the undercroft and through the keep, clutching the hilt all the while. It felt oddly familiar, despite the length of time that had passed since the last time she had held a weapon. Comforting. Safe. She paused behind the Inquisitor as the latter knocked on a tower door.

“Come in,” a voice called. Liviana pushed the door open. “There you are,” Cullen smiled over at them both from behind his desk and stood to greet them. “I was beginning to wonder if you had drowned in your tub.”

“You spend weeks and weeks in the desert and see how you feel after,” Liviana muttered.

“I think I’ll pass, but thank you,” he studied her for a moment more, taking in her shoulders, the barest stoop angle to her spine before turning to the other woman. “And Naella, how are you finding Skyhold so far?”

“It’s very nice, my lor- Commander.” Immediately presented with the tall figure of the Commander of Inquisition, golden and resplendent in his armor and trappings, the aura of his power almost overwhelming, Naella’s head and shoulders dropped and only Liviana’s hand around her arm kept her from falling to the ground upon her knees.

“Naella-” Cullen snapped his mouth shut at Liviana’s slight shake of her head. Frowning down at himself, he studied the trembling elf for a minute before realizing what was wrong. And immediately, he raised one hand to his shoulders and unclasped his mantle, pulling the tabard free of its ties, leaving him clad in just his silverite armor. The same as any other soldier, albeit a well-equipped one. “I would prefer if you called me by just Cullen. Or Rutherford, if you like. But please, I am only Commander to my troops.”

Not daring to raise her gaze, Naella shook her head, keeping her eyes trained on his boots. Black leather, polished to a shine. Practical, well-made. The boots that marked his station. And her own feet, clad in the same tattered slippers she had been found in, as there had not had time to find her boots of her own yet. “I would not dare to presume, Commander,” she managed to whisper.

Glancing toward Liviana, who just bit her lip and shrugged helplessly at him, Cullen leaned against his desk, doing his best to keep his stance casual and as non-threatening as possible. “I was wondering if you had decided on whether or not you were staying here as part of the Inquisition?"

“I would like to help, if I can, Commander,” Naella replied cautiously, still unable to meet his gaze. “But I’m not sure if I’d be good at anything.”

Cullen considered her for a moment, his eyes flickering from her to Liviana, who just regarded him curiously. “You were a gladiator, were you not? With Liviana?”

“Yes, but as a mage, my fighting style was not conventional. I would be no good in army ranks.”

“But you still know how to fight,” he replied unperturbed.

“Oh,” Liviana realized what he was getting at. “Yes, that would work.”

“What would?” Naella glanced up.

“I could always use a seasoned veteran to help train the recruits,” Cullen said. “If you know even half of what Liviana knows, you would be a huge asset to us. Was battlemagic part of your training as well?”

“Casting in close quarters, within arm’s length, was grounds for disqualification, but was otherwise permitted. There were often matches held solely for mages to fight other mages that I participated in,” she explained.

“We have many mages within Skyhold. But most of them are Circle-trained and lack any sort of formal education in combat related spells. Not to mention that they are entirely too reliant on their magic for defense. If you could help train them to use their magic in battle, and to fight without their mana in case they come up against red templars, I would be eternally grateful.”

Turning to frown in Cullen’s general direction, Naella cocked her head to one side in a manner than reminded him of Liviana. “Would they even listen to me? An elf and a slave? Not that I’d dare question your offer, ser. It is a generous one, far more than the likes of me deserve, and-”

“Former slave,” Cullen corrected her gently. “And yes, they will if they know what’s good for them. I’ll make sure of that.

“If you don’t want to, we can always find something else for you to do,” Liviana promised. “Like I said, it’s entirely up to you, Naella.”

“I do want to be useful,” Naella murmured timidly. “And I do know how to fight. It makes sense. If that is what you suggest, I would glad to assist.”

“Excellent,” Cullen smiled. “We’ll start as soon as you’ve had a chance to rest and get settled.”

“Thank you, Commander. It is an honor,” Naella lowered herself into a proper bow, that of a slave to a lord, and Liviana resisted the urge to hold the woman back even as she understood. Old habits died hard.


	75. A Lash in the Dark

It wasn’t so bad. There was a routine, a rigidity that was comfortable and an ease that she had never before experienced. Dawn brought morning exercises, and Naella joined the other recruits for now to bring her back into fighting shape. There were drills and spars and she surprised only herself with how quickly she fell back into her training mindset. In fact, despite her injuries, she was still able to best most of others saved the seasoned veterans in single combat, her reflexes still sharp after all these years. After lunch, she partnered with a few of the other mages who also served as scouts, practicing her magic and reveling in the depth of her mana, all of it finally at her disposal. Evenings were devoted to learning to read and write along with the other former slaves, courtesy of the tutors the Inquisition provided. Her days were simple, and full, and even though there were many things that triggered her panic- sharp voices, the crack of leather against leather, the coppery tang of blood and lightning- it got a little better with each passing day. She thought maybe, maybe this could be where she started to heal.

Cursing as the nib of her quill tore straight through her parchment, Naella sighed and dropped both from her hands with a clatter onto the desk; it was time to retire anyhow, as the candle was almost a melted nub, the wax puddling on the worn wooden surface. One could only practice the same set of runes for so long before the mind just blurred it all together.

Tidying up her area, she placed her tools back on the shelf and gathered her notes into her arms, letting the heavy door close behind her as she stepped out into the hall. Had she been in there for so long? The clatter and conversation of supper was missing from the air, leaving only a muted silence punctuated by the occasional murmur of a soft voice or the whisper of silk rustling against the stone floor. Yawning, Naella shrugged to herself and headed deeper into the keep to find her bed, rounding one corner only to collide with a wall of steel.

“Oh! Excuse me! I’m so sorry,” she staggered back a step as she realized the wall was in fact, a man dressed in armor. “I did not see you there.”

The man craned his neck back, a sneer pulling at the muscles of his long face. “Obviously,” he grunted. “What are you doing out at this hour, mage?”

 _Mage… Oh. He’s a templar_. After one of the other mages had taken the time to point out the templars from the ordinary soldiers, Naella found it easy to identify them. Some were kind and fair, like Ser Barris and the Commander, but others… But they all had a discernible gait and stance, an ease in heavy plate that none of the others possessed. Not to mention that this close to the templar, she could feel the hum of the lyrium that ran through his veins. “I was just finishing up my studies, ser,” she lowered her head demurely as was habit.

“Bloody mages, just running loose about the place,” he spat with a frustrated growl. “I don’t know why the Knight-Captains allow it. It’s that fucking Inquisitor, she’s too soft. Probably from the influence of those rats she allows around her, that brother of hers and the magister.”

Something flared up inside of her. “We’re not rats!” The words spilled from her mouth of their own accord. “We’re people, too!”

“People,” the templar scoffed. “Vessels for demons, just waiting to be possessed. There’s only one thing the likes of you is good for.” Every hair on Naella’s neck stood up as his eyes, dark and unyielding, raked over her body, his gaze piercing as if he could see straight through the layers of wool that covered her. “And you know what that is, don’t you, mage?”

“D-don’t,” her feet tripped over the stones as she scurried back out of his reach. “Please, I just want to get back to my room.”

“So you will. After I’m done with you. Be a good mage and don’t fight me. Or do,” he chuckled watching her eyes as they darted to the corners of corridor, desperately searching for escape. “I like a little spirit.”

“No!”

A fist fell upon her cheek and Naella hit the ground. Dazed with the bright, lancing pain that throbbed through her face, she warily stared up at the man only to see a stocky figure in robes, obsidian hair pulled back into an elegant style, the scorching stones under her tattered palms, the sting of salt in her eyes and- 

No. It was dark in here. She was in Skyhold, not the quarries in western Marothius. She was free, no longer a slave, no longer forced to cower before nobles and her betters. Yet she could not make her legs move, nor her tongue to speak.

“Please.” It was all she could manage. “Please.”

His grip was bruising upon her arms, calloused fingers encased in leather digging into her scarred skin to haul her up and throw her back. With a gasped wheeze, she hit the wall behind her and slid to the ground. It was happening again. Just like before, and she was still helpless, still powerless, still a slave-

The sound of her robes ripping shattered her trance. 

She was free. And she was anything but helpless anymore. Fire, searing and bright, burst forth from her hands in a blazing arc and with a shrill cry, the templar stumbled back. “Get off of me,” Naella snarled. “You worthless piece of-”

The world fell out from underneath her. Her magic, it was- it was gone. All of it. There was nothing where the familiar hum of the Fade should be, no mana to reach for. A thick blanket of gravity crushed her from the inside out, leaving her choking and gasping for relief that would not come.

“Bitch,” the templar spat. “Should’ve known you’d try to do something like that. I should have Purged you from the start. You’ll regret that, I’ll make sure of it.” Hands reached for her again and this time, she could not even whimper.

“Ser Ilin!” Still paralyzed with the full force of the smite that lay over her, Naella could not see who called out, only catching sight of embroidered robes that swished past that were of the exact shade of the ice she had served to her dominus so many years ago, such a pale blue to appear white. “What is going on here?”

“Templar business,” the templar’s glare cut over to the regal woman who approached them. “I was just out minding my own business when this one tried to attack me.”

“Is that so?” The cool voice asked. “Is that why her robes are torn here, and there?”

“Are you questioning my integrity, Madame de Fer?”

“If there is anything to question at all,” the woman retorted. The ice blue robes pooled in a silvery puddle as she leaned down. A hand appeared just outside of the edge of Naella’s vision, the palm cool as it laid against Calliope’s arm. “My dear, you’re bleeding. I can heal that for you, if you’d like.”

Struggling to breathe through the pain and the terror and shame of it all, Naella managed not a single sound saved a strangled croak. “Not- attack-”

“She’s a liar! See here?” Ser Ilin tugged the edge of his breastplate down, revealing a welt that was already starting to blister across his neck. “She cast at me! Surely you can see the marks of magefire, Madame.”

Abruptly, Vivienne yanked her hand off of Naella, her piercing gaze swinging from the prostate woman on the ground to the templar towering over her with a triumphant gleam to his eyes. “I believe this is out of my hands now. Guards!” Her voice rang out through the halls, bringing several soldiers almost immediately. “Escort them both to the dungeons if you please, separate cells, and someone inform the Inquisitor and the Commander. I believe they will be most interested in this.”

Naella heard no more after that, Ser Ilin’s protests and curses falling on deaf ears. All she could do was fixate on that one, simple word. Dungeons. She couldn’t go back there, she couldn’t. “No! I will not go!” Mana flared in her hands.

“What in the bloody void is going on here? Madame de Fer?”

“Inquisitor,” Vivienne nodded at Liviana, who stood in quiet, rigid fury at the end of the hall, “I found these two just a few moments ago. The templar shows signs of magefire, and the mage shows signs of assault. See for yourself.”

Sharp eyes the shade of thunderclouds cut over to the templar, and then down to Naella, who wished she was anywhere but here. “I see,” Liviana murmured softly, too gently. “Guards, take Ser Ilin down to a cell for the moment. I will question Naella first.”

“Of course, Your Worship.”

Beckoning for the mage to follow her, Liviana led Naella out of the keep in silence, through the hall and across the bridge to where the Commander’s office stood. Shoving the door open without bothering to knock, the Inquisitor barked at the soldiers clustered around the massive desk. “Will you please give us a moment? I have need of the Commander. And send for Ser Barris and Fiona, as well.”

Cullen frowned as his men quickly filed out, but waited until the door was firmly shut before he spoke. “What is going on?”

A shake of Liviana’s head was her only answer. Leaning against an empty space of wall, she stared vacantly down at the worn rug that covered the floor, leaving Naella to stand quietly in the corner as she had so many times before. It was only when Ser Delrin Barris and the former Grand Enchanter Fiona entered that she stirred.

“Naella,” the woman jumped at the sound of her name. Liviana’s glanced up at her. “Would you tell us what happened?”

“I was studying,” Naella’s voice was barely a whisper. “My letters, in the classroom. I hadn’t realized how late it was. I went to leave and accidentally ran into the templar. I apologized, but he- he said things, about mages in general and what I deserved. Then he tried to- to take me,” she choked out, the memories of her previous rapes somehow clear and yet fogged in the forefront of her mind. It was telling that no one in the room looked the least bit surprised. “I panicked and cast against him to try to get away. He hit me again, and that is when Madame de Fer found us.”

“What sort of things did he say?” Fiona asked gently. 

“I hardly see how that matters,” Cullen began.

“It does,” Liviana cut in stonily, her face still frozen in a mask. “What did he say, Naella?”

“He-” Naella ducked her head down. “He did not like that the mages had free run of Skyhold, and attributed it to the influence of your brother and the altus. He called us rats, and vessels for possession. And he said you…”

“Yes?”

“You were soft,” she finished on a short exhale. 

No one said a word as they waited for their leader to react. But Liviana just stood there, in the same position as she had been, spine pressed to the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, and her eyes staring at nothing. “Will someone please get someone to escort Naella to her room, and post a guard outside? And bring Ser Ilin here.”

The templar’s story was as much as she had predicted. A rogue mage, bent on causing trouble and mayhem upon the upstanding Order. It was a tale Liviana was all too familiar with from the years she had spent in Kirkwall and the stories she had heard from the mages she had helped escape the Gallows. It didn’t matter. The eyes never lied. And Ser Ilin’s eyes told her everything she needed to know. With a curt nod after the man completed his pathetic version, a smug curl to his lips, Liviana dismissed him as well. Around the room, the others remained silent, their eyes heavy on her features, waiting to see what she would do.

“I have no experience with judging this sort of thing,” her voice was low and steady, controlled and measured. “What would have happened in the Circles if something like this happened? Circles beside Kirkwall,” she added, ignoring Cullen’s wince.

“The templar would be put on restriction, assigned to menial duties on reduced lyrium rations for a period of time deemed fit by the First Enchanted and Knight-Commander,” Barris replied as Fiona nodded with a sour look upon her face. “The punishment would vary for the mage involved.”

“What?” Liviana’s head flew up at that. “Why would the mage be punished if they were solely defending themselves?”

“The idea was that they should have shown more restraint and control,” Cullen hedged, fully aware of her lover’s ire and the fury that was simmering just below her surface in the clench of her fists and the line of her shoulders.

“And is that what you would recommend in this situation, Commander?”

“Of course not,” he hastily rushed ahead. “We are no longer within a Circle, and Naella was fully within her rights defending herself. We can put Ser Ilin on half rations for awhile, say two or three months, and on probation for that duration. He will not be allowed back in the regular patrol until his sentence in complete.”

“You think Ser Ilin should be allowed back in the regular patrol at all?”

Ser Barris took a step back, despite the outward softness of the Inquisitor’s tone, shaking his head to defer to his Commander at the latter’s questioning glance. Sighing, Cullen shook his head. “The rape was not carried through. At this point, all we have is her word against his as no one else saw what happened.”

“You know what happened, Commander,” Liviana snapped, her eyes flashing like lightning. “It’s the same damn thing that happened every day in the Gallows and you know it. You ignored it then; do you plan to do the same here?”

It was a low blow, yet the only sign that her words had hit its mark was seen in the flare of his nostrils. “Ca- Inquisitor, I have no intention on letting him go unpunished. But this situation, it could start a dangerous precedent, and-” Cullen started.

“Yes, a dangerous precedent of mages actually defending themselves,” Liviana bit out, her arms straightening by her side to slam back at the wall. “Which is precisely what Naella is teaching the others! What will it look like to the mages if he resumes his post? What will it tell them? That no matter what, they will always be lesser than?”

“Inquisitor,” Fiona hedged in tentatively, warily watching the two leaders face off from opposite. “I understand your reasoning, and in all honesty, I agree with you. But this is a case of the templar’s word against the mages. Wounds are visible on both parties, and it is impossible to say for sure which struck first.”

“You cannot believe that,” Liviana gaped.

“No, I do not. But that it what it looks like to the rest of the world,” Fiona sighed. “You cannot change everything in such a short amount of time.”

“So, what,” Liviana spluttered at the trio. “We just cut his rations, sentence him to latrine duty for a few months and that’s it? Let him back in the ranks with more resentment and hate and a probable need for vengeance festering inside of him?”

“You don’t know if that will be the case,” Cullen sighed. “He may surprise us yet. People change. You know that. Or is this just because he called you soft?”

“Vishante kaffas,” Liviana swore. “Do you seriously believe that? That this is just some sort of retribution for the words he spoke about me?” Shoving away from the wall with a low growl, she stalked over the window on the opposite side of the room, Fiona and Barris both shifting where they stood. “I do not like this,” she muttered quietly. “But it seems I have no choice. Bring them both in.”

“Should we not summon them to the great hall?”

“No,” Liviana swiped one hand down, her other hand tightening on the windowsill. “I do not want to give further humiliation to Ser Ilin and give him more cause to resent Naella or the mages. It is, as you said, a private matter and so his sentencing shall be as well.”

Biting his lip, Cullen sighed and nodded at Barris to go and fetch the pair back. He desperately wished he and Liviana were alone so they could talk things over, for there was clearly more to the situation than she let on, but it was of no use right now. With an ease borne of years of practice, he took up a casual stance, his hands neatly crossed and resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes lingering on his Inquisitor and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I'm still here, still tinkering away at this. Real life has become very...real-y life-y recently, so writing has taken a back seat for a bit. Hope you enjoy this new chapter!


	76. Unbound

Liviana had not been her normal self since she came back from the Wastes. She had shrugged it off as just exhaustion to everyone close to her but her mannerisms belied her excuse. Her gaze was more distracted of late, her mind far off in thought. Cullen assumed it had much to do with finding Naella, and the memories of the past that the reunion had brought, but she remained tight-lipped about what exactly was going on in her head. Neither Max, nor Varric, had any other insight either. It seemed as if she were determined to bear whatever was weighing her down on her own.

Either way, he should not have assumed her stance on this judgement was merely that Ser Ilin called her soft. Cullen knew better than that, should have thought his way through the rest of his sentence before he spoke. Of course she would be infuriated about the templar’s attack, and with just cause. After all, Naella had been a gladiator too. And both women would forever bear the scars of their previous life. Maker’s breath, he was a fool. He needed to apologize.

Fiona pretended to not notice a thing and made herself scarce in the far corner of the office as Cullen inched his way over to where Liviana stood, her eyes fixed on a distant point far over the mountains across the valley. “Cat,” he murmured softly. “I’m sorry. I should not have insinuated that you are doing this because of what Ser Ilin said. That was low of me. I know- Cat? Are you listening?”

“Hmm?” Livana’s disjointed stare flicked over to him. “Oh. It’s alright. There was probably some truth to your statement anyhow.”

“Catalina,” Cullen took a step closer to her, his brow knit together. “I feel like there’s more to this than I realize. What is going on?”

Opening her mouth, Liviana’s jaw snapped shut and she shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m just thinking. Lot on my mind, you know.”

“Cat-”

“Inquisitor!” The door pushed open with a heavy groan, admitting Ser Barris followed by Ser Ilin and Naella, trailing warily behind the other two men. “Reporting.”

Nodding at the Knight-Captain, Liviana turned away from Cullen and spoke. “We have reached a solution and I would like to hear your thoughts about it,” she stood straight and solemn, her eyes calmly settling on one then the other. “It has been proposed that for his attempt at rape, and the assault, Ser Stephan Ilin will be given half rations of lyrium for three months, and be removed from his regular patrol. Is this satisfactory to you both?”

Naella just stared at her as if she had gone mad while Ser Ilin spluttered his defiance and outrage. “What?” the templar gasped. “I never tried to rape her! She was the one who attacked me! Will the mage receive no punishment at all?”

Faster than a blink of an eye, Liviana darted across the room to where he stood and whipped out a dagger from her boot. The blade rested like a whisper against the thin skin of his neck and he did not dare breathe. “Would you like to swear your life on that, Ser Ilin?” she asked softly. “As far as I can tell, Naella was simply defending herself. You receive a far gentler punishment than I might have meted out.”

“Y-yes, Inquisitor.”

Liviana took as step back, eyeing the way his ashen complexion flushed with the barest tinge of red. And turned back to Naella. “Naella?”

“I will abide by whatever the Inquisitor decides,” the mage gritted out. The air tingled with the heavy weight of electricity and mana, and Cullen felt Ser Barris prepare a Cleanse on the edge of his dulled senses. 

“Mm. I see.” Clasping her hands behind her back, Liviana cocked her head to one side, her tone still chilled and level. “I have another proposition, but both of you will have to agree to it. Naella, do you remember that bout Helena fought against Flavius? The year after the Corona games.” 

Naella started, and slowly nodded, her face resuming its mask of indifference as the pressure on the room slowly eased. “I do.”

“It would be like just like that. No magic, no templar abilities, just raw skill against skill. A duel to first blood. Naella wins, Ser Ilin will receive no more lyrium from the Inquisition and will be stripped of his rank and banished. If Ser Ilin wins, he will go on half rations for one months and probation, and Naella will also be put on restriction for one month. Is this agreeable to you both?”

 _Has she lost her mind?_ Cullen was sure his expression mirrored that of both Ser Barris and Fiona, both eyes wide, jaw slightly agape. Yes, Naella was a capable warrior. She had clearly been trained by the same people as Liviana, for he could tell some similarities in the way they fought. But Ser Ilin was a templar in the prime of his abilities, and Naella was still regaining her strength. “Inqui-”

“It is,” Naella’s voice cut across him, at the same time that Ser Ilin smirked and nodded his own agreement.

“I agree to those terms.”

“Very well. I will set the match for the day after tomorrow in the morning, one bell after sunrise. You are all dismissed.” As everyone obediently filed out of the office, Cullen watched as Liviana’s posture slowly sagged. “Fenhedis,” she muttered mostly to herself. “I hope that was the right decision.”

“Cat,” Cullen cautiously approached her again and gently directed her to his chair. “What is going on?”

Her head raised from where she had buried her face in her hands and he was struck by how exhausted she looked. Her skin had lost the healthy pallor she had brought back from the Wastes, the glow fading to something that resembled aging parchment, thin and yellow and haggard. Nightmares plagued what little sleep she was able to get, with any sort of deeper rest eluding her. For far too many nights, Cullen had fallen asleep with her at his side and woken up to a cold indentation upon the rumpled sheets in the middle of the night, Cat at her desk reading or writing and refusing to come to bed. But she would not talk to him.

“Nothing,” she shook her head. “I know Naella isn’t back anywhere near her peak, but she’ll do fine. She needs this, Cullen. A chance at getting justice for herself. Far too much of her life has been meted out at the hands of another. The control is hers now. And besides,” one shoulder lifted in a weary shrug. “This is how our Doctore had us settle minor problems among the gladiators, in a duel to first blood. She knows the terms very well.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “I did not mean to imply- Maker’s breath. I just worry about you, Catalina. You’ve not been the same since you returned.”

“I know,” she murmured so softly, he almost missed her words. “But how can I not be changed?”

“By what? What happened?” Cullen entreated. He laid his hands over hers. “Talk to me, love.”

“I… I can’t,” Liviana whispered. “Not yet. I’m still trying to figure some things out for myself.”

“That is why I’m here, you know.” Smiling as he brushed her cheek, Cullen sighed. “I want to help, however I can. You know that, don’t you?” She nodded, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into his hand. “Max and Rilla are both worried about you as well. As is Cassandra. And Varric. And-”

“All of Skyhold, I get it, I get it.” Straightening her spine, she adjusted her fitted jacket, a simply adorned yet elegantly cut leather of midnight blue that fit her trim figure perfectly. “I’ll work it out, Cullen. And I’ll go talk to Max, I need to check in on him anyways.”

“Of course,” Cullen dropped his arm to his side. “See you tonight?”

Her nod was more out of habit than any real confirmation, but it was all she had to offer at the moment. A sharp gust of wind laden with the promise of the late autumn’s first snow buffeted her as she stepped out onto the battlements.

Soft. Who was she? How much had she changed from the slave she had been? A little change was good, but…. Soft. She had seen it in Naella’s eyes when she laid out Ser Ilin’s punishment. There had been a time she would have cut down a person where they stood for what Ser Ilin had tried without a second thought. Once, her sense of justice had been more finely honed. What was it now? Was she losing sight of the people for the bigger picture? Close the rifts, kill Corypheus. Those were the only things that had consumed her life, along with her worries about Max and Cullen. But they weren’t the only people in her care. There were hundreds, even thousands more that looked to her even though they should not, even though she was the least worthy, and they all needed her help. And while her advisors would argue that she could best serve them by defeating the red templars and Venatori and restoring peace to Thedas, there was more she could do. More she _had_ to do, if she was ever going to be worthy of Calliope’s sacrifice. If such a thing were possible.

To die bound. With no chance of defending herself. It was different, somehow easier to accept, when she had thought that Calliope had died in battle on her own two feet. Easier to just live her life, to try to find peace in just being free. But now every time she closed her eyes, every time she had a free second to herself, all she could see was darkness. Those dank, filthy dungeons beneath the elegant cities of the Imperium, crawling with rats and maggots and Maker knew what else. The rattle of iron against stone, the screams that would echo down the corridors, the stench of burnt flesh and feces and piss all mingling together among the dregs of humanity- that is where Calliope had lived out the last of her life. And how she had died…

Liviana shook the image from her mind. 

Pausing briefly to talk to Mother Giselle, Liviana made her way down into one of the side rooms off the undercroft that Maxwell and Dorian had claimed for their own, only to find it empty. 

“Looking for them?” Dagna chirped from the other side of the room. “Gardens, I think. They were saying something about needing fresh air. Although I think the air is plenty fresh down here, don’t you think? A bit damp though, with the waterfall and whatnot.”

“Thank you,” Liviana cut her off as politely as she could manage. “I’ll go check the gardens.”

Max spotted her as soon as she stepped into the yard, the shadows from the torchlight dancing off her skin. It was always obvious where the Inquisitor was- just follow the highest concentration of nobles, all fawning and trailing after her like lost puppies, eager for whatever scraps she left them while his sister did her best to ignore them all. It was rather amusing most days. But recently, not as much. He had noticed that before, she had made it a point to avoid the nobles and their idle chatter but since her return, she simply did not notice them. It was as if she was in a dream, or a trance, simply floating through the keep like some living ghost.

“Your turn,” Dorian’s voice brought his attention back to their game. “It seems as if Liviana is looking for someone.”

“Yeah,” Max shifted in his seat. “I wonder-” His head jerked up when her gaze settled on him and she began to move towards them. When was the last time his sister had sought him out? “Cat!”

“Hey.” Perching on the edge of his seat, Liviana cocked her head down at their board. “Dorian has it in three moves.”

“What- Shit,” Max groaned as Dorian rubbed his hands gleefully together. “Friggin’ balls. I demand a rematch. Set it up again, Pavus. What’s up?”

“Just checking in. I realized I’ve been a sort of horrible sister as of late,” she replied with a tiny, rueful smile. “How is everything?”

“Not too bad,” he shrugged. “Still hammering away at our research, coming up with shit for the Blight but we discovered a new spell that treats blood infections with better results, so there’s some benefit at least. By the way, I heard there was a scuffle inside earlier between a mage and templar. What was that about?”

Every muscle in her body tensed. “A templar attacked Naella,” she replied stiffly. “And she defended herself.”

“Kaffas,” Dorian swore. “Is she alright?”

“Would you be alright?” Liviana shot back. “She has a few injuries, but nothing life threatening, if that is what you mean.”

“I’ll go find her and heal her,” Max offered. “What happened to the templar?”

“They wanted to restrict his rations and put him on probation,” jumping up from the armrest, Liviana began pacing the small gazebo, her arms tightly crossed over her chest. “It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough for what he did. But there were no witnesses, so it was a ‘he said, she said’ scenario. Ser Ilin thought his sentence too harsh and Naella thought it too light.” She paused.

“So what was decided?” Dorian prompted.

“A duel. At dawn, to first blood.”

“That is… dramatic, I will say that,” Dorian muttered while Max just stared at her.

“A duel? A mage against a templar? Cat, have you lost your mind?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she snapped. “I am in full possession of my mental faculties, thank you very much. They both agreed to it, and that is that.”

“Sorry,” Max winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“You and Cullen both,” she muttered. “I’m fine. I know I’ve been out of it these last couple of weeks, but I’m fine. Truly.”

“Sure you are,” her brother snorted. 

Liviana merely glared back at him. “But if you could heal her tonight, that would be most welcome, Maxwell.”

“The full name, ouch,” Max held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll go find her.”

“Oh, and Dorian. Mother Giselle cornered me inside,” Liviana turned towards the altus. “Apparently your father wrote her for help? And sent a retainer to Redcliffe to take you to a safe place to talk to your family. I’m supposed to lie to you and convince you to go.”

“You’re doing a horrible job of it,” Dorian chuckled gravely. “No doubt the retainer is a hired bully who will simply bash me over the head, and drag me back to Tevinter against my will. I refuse. Although, perhaps I should go, if only to tell the retainer in no uncertain terms that I will not be returning with him.”

“And if it’s an ambush?”

“I could go with you,” Max offered. “Cat?”

“I told Cassandra we’d go to Caer Bronach soon. There’s evidence that some of the other Seekers were sent there, and she wanted to find out what happened to them. But we could stop by in Redcliffe first,” Liviana mused. “I could go with you, and kill him. Or I could tag along until he takes us to your father, and then kill them both.”

“Cat,” Max groaned. “He’s not going to want you to kill his dad. I think. Do you?”

“While I have no great fondness for the man, I do not exactly wish him dead,” Dorian attempted a wry smile.

“I was just offering,” she grumbled. “So we’ll all go to Redcliffe first, and then Caer Bronach. I’ll ask Varric and-”

“Solas won’t bind me! Even though he likes demons!”

“Vishante fucking kaffas- Cole!” Screeching and swearing all the while, Liviana stumbled backwards from where the spirit had appeared from thin air. “What have I said about doing that?”

“Sorry,” Cole mumbled as he turned towards Max. “The amulet didn’t work. I don’t want to hurt innocent people. The binding is the only way left.”

“Dammit, Cole,” Max sighed. “There has to be another way besides that, and besides, Solas told you binding you was not an option, remember? No blood magic.”

“But-”

“Will someone please explain what is going on,” Liviana interrupted through gritted teeth, her glare swinging from her brother to the spirit. “Who isn’t using blood magic? And why does it want to be bound?”

“Cole is scared of being bound, like the demons at Adamant,” Max shook his head. “So we- Solas and I- were able to get Josephine to help us track down a Rivaini amulet that should have protected Cole against blood magic and such rites.”

“The Amulet of the Unbound,” Solas’ voice drifted ahead, followed seconds later by the mage himself as well as Varric. Nodding to Liviana, the elf glanced back towards Cole, watching as the spirit paced in circles, wringing his hands in despair. “I had hoped it would protect him, but there is something interfering with the enchantment.”

“Because Cole is more human now than spirit,” Varric cut in.

Solas glowered down at him. “That is not-”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Liviana asked testily. “If our people are at risk because of it-”

“Stop calling Cole an it,” Max snapped back. “Cole, do you know what went wrong?”

His boots shuffled in the dirt as he spun around, his pale eyes scanning the horizon beyond the garden walls. “There,” Cole pointed south.

“Alright, kid. Get with Cullen and work with him on the map to figure out where you’re sensing something wrong,” Varric said.

“But don’t just- do that,” Liviana groaned as Cole disappeared from sight. “Cullen hates when it does that.”

“He.”

Ignoring her brother, Liviana turned back to Solas and Varric. “So are you two planning on going with it?”

“If he wants me to,” Varric shrugged. “He came into this world to be a person, and if I can help-”

“This is not some fanciful tale, child of the Stone,” Solas reprimanded Varric sharply. “We cannot change our nature by wishing it. We must deal with whatever is interfering with the enchantment, however we do so.”

“Varric, do you really think Cole is turning into a human?” Liviana asked warily. “Is that even possible?”

“Don’t know,” Varric replied, glaring back up at Solas, as if daring him to contradict. “But he wants to be more human. So I say let him. I mean, he’s not like any other spirit, right? He’s already got a real body.”

“This makes my head hurt,” Liviana mumbled. “Max, this is your fault-”

“Hey!”

“So you go with them and fix it,” she continued. “Dorian’s father’s retainer will wait, so make sure Cole isn’t stolen by the Venatori before then, or kill it before that happens. Understood? It knows far too much about the Inquisition to allow it to fall into Venatori hands,” she stared each of them down in turn. “If it becomes a liability, it dies, Max. No exceptions.”

“I understand,” Max sighed wearily as he stood. “Fine. I’ll go find Naella, then check in on Rutherford, make sure Cole hasn’t given the man a heart attack yet.”

“Does this mean you forfeit our game?” Throwing a pawn at Dorian’s head, Max did not dignify his question with a response and swept out of the garden. “I suppose that’s a yes. Thank you for informing me of the letter, Liviana,” Dorian nodded at her. “I will go and pack.”

“Solas,” Liviana beckoned at the man as he turned to go. “What are the risks of Cole becoming more human, anyways?”

“He is a spirit,” Solas replied crispy, his annoyance with Varric still shining through. “Varric wishes him to somehow miraculously turn into a real person, like some children’s fairy tale.”

“Is it possible?” she asked quietly.

“I… am not sure, to be honest,” he confessed reluctantly. “Cole is something I have never encountered before. But he is a spirit, Inquisitor. The ramifications of making him more… human are unknown.”

“I don’t like unknown when it comes to spirits and demons,” she frowned. Her arms crossed. “I trust you will do what is best. I know Max and Varric both have the best of intentions, but they both tend to get carried away and let their gut guide them. Which works most of the time, but I don’t want to risk it with the demon spirit thing.”

“I understand,” Solas smiled, his previous severity melting in the face of her response. “I am happy to help.”

Nodding, Liviana watched him leave the garden, leaving her alone under the gazebo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiiiii


	77. To First Blood

News of the duel spread through Skyhold like wildfire. No one knew precisely what was at stake, the wager involved, but rumors abounded and most knew that something had happened between one of the mages and a templar. But the one thing that everyone knew for certain was that the mage involved was Naella.

Balling her hands into fists to keep her trembling at bay, Naella slunk out of the keep proper, unable to bear the whispers and stares any longer. She needed to focus and concentrate, a task that was all but impossible with the noisy crowd that had gathered around the practice ring near the barracks where Ser Ilin joked around with his brethren and preened. Trekking a short ways up the mountain, she paused at a clearing that was level enough.

“Thought you might come here,” Liviana’s voice called from across the way. Raising an eyebrow, Naella watched as the Inquisitor pushed off a tree she had been leaning against, a blunt sword in one hand, with another human standing just behind her left shoulder. “Naella, this is Krem. Krem, Naella. Yes, he’s a ‘Vint, no, he’s not a mage, just a mercenary and soporati, and yes, I trust him. You know, it’s been awhile since I fought with a shield. This might be awkward.”

“And you move nothing like a templar,” Naella added that bit of obvious. “Far too fast, for one. And less clumsy.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” Liviana warned. “They may wear heavy plate, but they are still quick and agile. Deceptively so. And their blows can be quite jarring. I wish I had been able to find Cassandra this morning. Her style is much more similar to a templar’s than yours or mine,” she craned her neck back towards Krem.

“I can go back and look for her, if you’d like,” he offered.

“Blackwall as well, if you would,” Liviana nodded. Retrieving a large shield from the base of a rock, she hefted it in one hand, grunting faintly at the weight. “Maker, how can Cass lift this so easily? Like it’s a fucking buckler when it’s more like a slab of granite?”

Snorting as she watched the Herald stumble forward on ungainly feet, Naella shook her head. “Just help me warm up for now. You look ridiculous with that thing. It’s bigger than you are.”

“And leave it to the professionals?” Liviana glanced up, the tiniest of smirks pulling at one corner of her mouth. “Fine. Blades up. Incipere.”

And with that word, it was as if everything clicked right into place. It was almost frightening how comfortable this felt. To train with someone that had been taught by the same as she, her style engraved upon her muscles- it was natural. Naella’s eyes lit up, more energy in her swings than she had felt before, each step taken with the assured confidence that she had once possessed. Liviana felt it too, she could tell. This was what made sense for them both. The sounds of steel clanging against steel, their breaths even and measured in their lungs, the soft give of the sand beneath their-

“I will never get used to this,” Naella muttered as she spun on one foot and just barely blocked a sword to her ribs. “Bloody leaves. The dirt isn’t too bad but these leaves are- Ugh.”

“No leaves in the ring tomorrow, just dirt,” Liviana pressed her advantage forward. “There will be a crowd though. Maybe the entirety of Skyhold.”

“I would expect no less. I don’t suppose the templar is used to an audience, is he?” Naella’s smile turned predatory.

“Small groups. But nothing like we’ve seen,” Liviana grinned back. “But _everyone_ will be watching.”

“I understand.”

Nodding, Liviana whirled again, noting with pleasure how quickly Naella had fallen back into her old skills. Rusty though the mage might be, she was still more than a match for any soldier, templar or no. This is what they had been bred for; battle was all they knew.

“This is a warmup?” Krem’s voice called out from the edge of the clearing. “Maker’s balls. You know, I’ve seen you train in the morning with the others and you’ve been holding back.”

“You are in better shape than you give yourself credit for,” Cassandra noted as she stepped forward. Both her and Blackwall wore their heaviest set of armor, though still a hair lighter than a templar’s, with massive shields strapped to their backs. “That was impressive.”

“It’s easy against her,” Naella jerked her chin towards the Inquisitor, her chest lightly heaving with the effort. “Or easier. We know each other’s moves like our own. But I’ve only caught glimpses of the templars training before. And I’ve never fought against anyone who carried a shield as large as that,” she eyed their equipment. 

“Probably because it’s not been necessary for any of us,” Liviana muttered to herself. “What are they compensating for?”

“I heard that,” Cassandra glared. “It is a precaution, to help guard against spells. Magefire, ice. A templar cannot fight if their boots are frozen to the ground. Come, let us go through the forms.”

“Blackwall can show you his chevalier training after this. And Krem will finish off with some miscellaneous melee,” Liviana settled against a rock to watch. “Most templars have the same style, but there are some variations.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better to get a templar to help, then?” Naella rose one eyebrow. “Your lover, perhaps?”

“The Commander of the Inquisition cannot be seen taking sides in this. I shouldn’t even be out here,” Liviana shrugged. She hadn’t missed how the mage had stressed that word, lover, almost as if it were an accusation. “But I go missing all the time. People won’t notice my absence as much as they would his.”

Accepting this with a tilt of her chin, Naella settled into her knees, her sword held at the ready and nodded towards Cassandra. 

“Begin.”

“You should know,” Blackwall rubbed his chin as he watched the women. “Varric’s been taking wagers for tomorrow.”

“Of course he is,” Liviana replied with a small shrug. “Everyone still thinks it’s a friendly spar?”

“They did. Until Ser Ilin ran his mouth to one of the serving girls this morning,” Krem’s voice was full of disdain. “So naturally, everyone now thinks that this match is to show how to put mages in their place.”

“Fenhedis,” Liviana groaned. “I should have just gutted him and been done with it.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t have done that,” Blackwall chuckled.

 _Soft. Weak._ “...Oh?”

“You’re much to honorable for that,” he continued, oblivious to how stiff she stood in place. “If anything, you would have challenged him to a duel yourself, beaten him handily in three strokes or less, and sent him packing to the Wastes.”

“Is that what you think I should have done?”

“You did what was best,” turning toward her with a curious gleam, Blackwall considered her. “From what I understand, both parties agreed to it. And from what I’ve seen, both sides are skilled in combat, so it’ll be a fair fight. More squabbles should be settled like this, if you ask me.”

“Squabble.” Liviana regarded him flatly. “You think attempted rape and assault classifies as a squabble.”

“Attempted ra-” His eyes flew open, one hand frozen over his beard. “I had no idea, truly. But if that’s the case, why is it being settled like this?”

“No evidence except a mage’s word against a templar,” she muttered. “This was the only way to give her at least a chance at a just sentence for her trauma.” And control. Naella had to know that she was not beholden to anyone anymore, that she mattered. They all did. Every last person from the top of the highest tower in Skyhold to down in the crudest tent in valley that sprawled out below them mattered to her. And they needed her to be better at showing it. No more distractions, no more letting her worries for only a chosen few consume her. She needed to focus.

“Wrist up! Feet wider, watch your flank!” Liviana barked out.

“Yes, Doctore!”

A sword clattered to the ground as Liviana’s heart stopped. Paralyzed in place, trapped in her own body, she watched as Naella ground to a halt and slowly spun to face her with wide eyes, her jaw working and failing to form words.

“I- That-”

Carefully, Liviana forced her joints to unhinge, and pushed herself off the rock and onto her own feet. Every feature on her face was guardedly neutral, her gaze vacant yet turbulent. “Please continue without me for a moment.”

“Liviana!”

Ignoring the calls that echoed down the path after her, Liviana all but ran down a narrow goat trail off to the side, deftly navigating the roots and rocks that littered the way. Faster, faster, until the wind pulled her scorching tears from her eyes. She was… crying? Collapsing into a tree, the bark rough and solid and real beneath her fingers, Liviana gasped back a sob.

Doctore. No, it was just a slip of the tongue. She was nothing like that monster- it was just the atmosphere, the familiarity in training that made Naella think of him. And to be honest, Liviana had felt like she was back in the ludus as well for a few moments. With Naella, and Cassius, and Helena. Calliope. It was fine. This was... fine.

What was she supposed to do? It felt like everything had changed, when she knew it hadn’t. There was nothing she could do to change the past, and how would she even begin to avenge her death? Kill every magister she found? Lead the Inquisition to march on Tevinter? It was ludicrous to even imagine. Tevinter was a problem she could not begin to solve- Corypheus was her goal. The Inquisition was her people.

 _Maker, my people. That will never not sound strange._ But it was true. Either way, she needed to get herself together. The apprehension and concern was visible in her friends’ faces every time she caught a glimpse of them. Varric’s and Cullen’s brow would be forever etched in deep furrows, Max would soon chew his lip ragged, and Cassandra would start a fire if she wrung her hands together any more violently. 

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to go to any of them and explain. Where would she even begin when it did not make sense in her own head? Calliope had lived, suffered, and died. Liviana had escaped, and just left her to her fate- _No. I had no way of knowing. This isn’t my fault._

So why did it feel like she was lying to herself? Why did she feel guilty every time Max ruffled her hair and teased her? Why did her insides twist when Cullen kissed her goodnight, and fell asleep holding her close to his chest? Why did her bile sour her mouth every time she smiled, or even thought about laughing?

She needed to figure out something, and fast. Their work was too important for anyone to be distracted from it. She could not be that distraction.

_Am I… a distraction? I can’t help being Max’s sister, but to be with Cullen… Could I give him up? For the good of the Inquisition?_

She stared out down across a glacier that spread out beneath the sheer drop of the mountain before her, the icy slopes sparking a bright azure in the morning sun for one breath. Then two. And three.

_...No. It would be worse if we did separate, that much I know is certain. But I need to come to terms with this. Somehow. Some way._

*** 

It seemed as if half of Thedas had crammed into the walls of Skyhold today. There was hardly any space left in the courtyard to stand, with dozens more lining the walls and windows and even the roofs of the nearby armory and tavern. Briefly, Liviana wondered if she should have moved the duel to down in the valley. She shook her head.

She stood at one end of the training ring alongside her advisors, Max and another healer at the opposite end. Ser Barris stood behind Naella, and Fiona, Ser Ilin. Every vantage point was covered so that the match would be fair and no one would be able to cry foul play. 

“Are they ready?” Liviana asked quietly. Glancing around, Cullen met the other glances with a nod.

“They are, Inquisitor.” He raised his hands, and the din of the crowd settled. “This is a duel to first blood. No abilities or spells will be permitted. Either party will be allowed to yield and forfeit at any time. Do the combatants stand ready?”

“I do,” Naella’s voice rang out, clear and calm. Dressed in a simple set of leather armor, her petite frame was a stark contrast to the bulk of Ser Ilin’s height and plate, and everyone knew how this would end. After all, a mage fighting with swords against a templar? Varric had said the odds were about 200-1.

“I do,” Ser Ilin wolfishly grinned, meeting the roar of the crowd with his sword raised and bared. 

“Incipere,” Liviana breathed to herself, then louder, for all to hear, “Then begin.”

It was a game of cat and mouse. Except the templar wanted to believe he was the cat. So Naella let him. Dodging, ducking as he swung at her, her blond braid swinging as she neatly avoided his sword- some in the crowd muttered that she might be able to win by just outlasting him. No, others argued, they had seen her train. She was decent enough, but hardly a match for a templar, especially one of the White Spire. Only the best of the best were stationed there in the heart of Orlais. Naella might be able to outlast him, but she’d still have to get within his much longer and well-guarded reach and draw blood.

The crowd grew louder, yelling suggestions and jeers for both. Cullen made to silence them, but a sharp motion from Liviana made him pause. “Let it be,” she murmured. Stepping back into place, he nodded. Although it seemed like it did not make much of a difference; neither templar nor mage appeared to be paying the cacophony any mind, their entire focus on the ring and their blades.

Jab, slash, roll. The sun grew warmer over the courtyard, chasing away the clouds and glinting off of the steel that flashed. How long had it been going on? An hour? Two? The shouts soon faded, and mutters began to take their place. Maybe they had misjudged the mage. After all, two hours in and her skin was still intact. Maybe, _maybe_ , she had a chance. Maybe the templar would lose to the mage.

The mutters reached Ser Ilin’s ears, their poisonous words wrapping him in their embrace, snaking their way into his brain. No, he could not lose to a mage of all things, especially not this slip of an elf! He would be disgraced forever. It was one thing to be overpowered by magic, after all, that was an unholy power fueled by demons. But to lose in a duel with melee weapons? It was inconceivable.

A growl burst up from his chest. He had to end this, _now_. Before he tired any further. He just needed an opening- _there!_ Gripping his shield tightly, Ser Ilin spun to block her parry with his left arm, his sword hand swinging around to find her thigh.

And blinked, as sunlight refracted off her sword and into his eyes. He stumbled. And saved himself from a fall by whipping around his torso in midair, his feet spread wide to catch himself. There was… blood? And silence. Dazed, Ser Ilin glanced down. A sword?

He collapsed to the ground.

In a single leap, Max cleared the fence and rushed to the man’s side, a spell already woven in his hands, dust rising up into the air from where his knees hit the dirt and skidded to kneel beside him. “Too late,” he shook his head. “He’s dead.”

“It was an accident,” Naella whispered, her sword still tightly gripped in her hand. Her eyes, wide and frozen in terror, spotted a thin rivulet of blood as it dripped down her blade. With a gasp, she let it drop to the ground with a dull thud. “I swear! It was an accident! I was trying to graze his side, but he turned too fast! He threw himself on my blade!”

Besides Liviana, Cullen sighed. What a disaster. Holding up his hands to stifle the roar of the crowd, he called, “Ser Barris? Fiona?”

“It seems an honest mistake,” Ser Barris replied gravely from the other side of the ring. “If Ser Ilin had not stumbled, she would have ducked under his sword and been within reach to draw blood. For all intents and purposes, it is as she says, as if Ser Ilin fell upon her sword and caused his own death.”

“I concur,” Fiona nodded, her arms folded in front of her.

Liviana, her face a stony mask, flicked her gaze over the trio, letting the weight of her stare rest on Cullen ever so briefly. “So it seems. This duel was to have been to first blood, but has now ended in death. Naella, if Ser Ilin had won, you would have gone on probation for a month. Let it be so, and your pay will be docked accordingly for the same time period. The difference will be sent to Ser Ilin’s family as part of their compensation. Everyone else, this duel is over. Back to your duties.”

Turning on her heel, not sparing another glance for the body or the stricken Naella, Liviana strode back into the hall, turning down the corridor that led to the great war room, intending to retrieve some reports before she entered into the first of several meetings that Josephine has coordinated for that day. There was a luncheon with the ambassador from Nevarra, followed by tea with the Marquise de Lavigne, and then-

“Cat- Inquisitor. A moment?” Cullen’s voice cut into her musings. Tilting her chin off to the side, Liviana cloaked herself in an aura of calm as she waited for him to approach her shoulder. “A question, if I may. In the bout you mentioned to Naella before, Flavius. What happened in the duel?”

“It was not so much a duel as it was a spectacle,” Liviana replied coolly. “Gladiators really don’t have duels.”

“Understood,” he nodded, his eyes sharp upon her. “Just… Who won the match?”

“...The match was declared null,” she glanced back at him, speaking low and soft. “There was an accident, you see. The match was intended to go until one yielded. But Flavius got sand in his eye, and stumbled. What was intended to be a graze of Helena’s spear ended up impaling him. His owner was well compensated, and Helena was punished. Accidents happen.”

“Of course,” Cullen echoed dully. “Accidents happen. Inquisitor.”

Biting her lip, Liviana opened her mouth to say something else, but gave herself a little shake instead. “If that is all, Commander?”

“For now,” he murmured. A stone settled in his stomach as he watched her stride away, her spine still straight and her chin still held high. _How?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SNAP


	78. Torn

Skyhold felt so empty without her. In the past, Cullen had always been able to bury himself in his work to distract himself from her absence but this time, it was not enough. Staring down at the parchments, figures and numbers swirling together until they were an incomprehensible blur of ink, he shoved the stack of reports away with a muttered curse and pushed himself back from his desk to stare at the ceiling.

Liviana had for all intents and purposes, executed Ser Ilin. She killed him under the guise of a fair duel, an honorable duel.

It made him want to vomit.

He should have seen this coming. She had been beyond furious, filled with an icy, calm rage that never boded well for the source of her ire, and it was justified. And in all honesty, he believed Naella over Ser Ilin as well, but there were rules for a reason. To say one thing, and then do another- she would undermine everything the Inquisition stood for. Everything that she had built the Inquisition into. They were supposed to be champions, fair and just, not involved with such underhanded duplicity such as this.

Cullen was not naive, though. He knew there were other dealings he was not aware of between Liviana and Leliana that involved spies and assassinations. He even accepted it to a point, knowing some situations were better dealt with in such a manner, though he found it tasteless. But this, this felt different. Perhaps because this time he was involved. Or maybe it was just because it involved one of his own, a templar.

 _No. Ser Ilin was not one of mine. Yet, how many like him served under me in Kirkwall? How many like him did I let go unchecked?_ Was that why this left such a bitter impression upon his soul? Because Liviana was able to give the mage the justice he had, inadvertently or not, denied so many like her in Kirkwall? Maker, his head hurt.

The door knocked. “Come in,” he called out gruffly. “Oh, Rilla.” Leaning over, he began to clear off a space on his desk for the tray she bore until he caught side of her face. “What’s the matter?”

Her eyes wide and glassy, Rilla crept into his office, her shoulders hunched together, her head drooping towards the floor. “Nothing,” she murmured. “Here’s your lunch, ser.”

“Rilla,” Cullen tried again, this time much more gently, “What’s wrong, pup?”

Biting her lip, Rilla carefully set the tray down in the center of the open space, using one finger to prod the edge until it was perfectly aligned with the desk. “Inquisitor Livvy… She’s mad at me.”

The floor creaked as Cullen quickly rose and circled around to kneel in front of the girl. “What makes you think that?”

“I’ve been runnin' messages,” she sniffed, scrubbing at her face with the hem of her sleeve, “And I brought a few to her. But she barely even looked at me. She usually talks to me, or at least smiles at me but- I don’t know what I could of done wrong. I’ve been tryin’ so hard to be good! I’ve been doin’ all my lessons, with a lot less mistakes now than I was makin’, and I’ve been bringing your food to you and makin’ sure you eat, and-”

“Rilla, Rilla,” Cullen laid his hand on her tiny shoulder and squeezed. “She’s not mad at you.”

“But-”

“She’s not upset with you,” he repeated more firmly. “I promise. She just… has a lot on her mind right now and is very distracted. But it’s not you. You have been doing a wonderful job, Rilla.”

“I have?” she gulped, drawing her arm back across her nose once more.

“You have,” he nodded. “See all this? You even brought me my favorite today.”

“Lamb and potato stew?” Rilla squinted at the bowl on the tray. “It’s so boring, though.”

Chuckling, he glanced up at his desk. “It’s simple. Rather like me, don’t you think? Could you see me eating at a fancy Orlesian table, filled with roast peacock and tiny sugared cakes?”

“I don’t think you’re very simple,” she shook her head. “But… no. You are very Ferelden, ser.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Cullen grinned wryly. “Aren’t you Ferelden too?”

“Yup,” she giggled. “We lived in Vintiver when I was little, in the Southron Hills. But we moved to South Reach, so Papa could work for Bann Keir a couple years back. Soren was born there, and Arith was just a babe.”

“South Reach? My siblings live there, you know,” he rose to his feet. “I grew up in Honnleath, though. Do you know where that is?”

“No, ser.”

“It’s- Let’s see.” Rifling through the papers on his desk, Cullen pulled out a map and spread the edges out. “Here’s Skyhold,” he pointed at a place high in the Frostbacks, “And here is South Reach. Honnleath is just down here, a day and a half ride south of Redcliffe.”

“Redcliffe,” she squinted down. “That’s where Maximus went, right? With Master Solas and Cole?”

“Yes,” he sighed.

“You don’t like Master Solas?”

“No, I like Solas fine,” Cullen shook his head. “I’m not sure about Cole yet, though. I admit I have difficulty with his nature.”

“I like Cole. He says the silliest things, and gives good hugs,” Rilla beamed. “Why don’t you like him?”

Leaning back against his desk, Cullen considered her, one arm crossed over his stomach, the other propping his chin up. “Magic is not… something I am entirely comfortable with, to be honest. I am working on it though. And I’m better than I was.”

“Because you were a templar,” she nodded sagely, as if it all made sense to her young mind. “Some mages are scary. But some are really nice. Like Maximus! And Master Solas. Not like Madame de Fer,” she wrinkled her nose. “You know, Papa’s sister was a mage. She was taken to the Circle before I was born though. I used to wish I could have magic too, so I could go and learn things.”

A shockwave ricocheted through his heart at the image of Rilla in apprentice robes, her limp body sprawled out on the cold stones of Kinloch, drenched in blood and ichor. Or worse, Rilla confined within the pale sandstone walls of the Gallows, the sunburst bright upon her forehead and her eyes vacant and hollow. “No,” Cullen growled with much more heat than he intended, “Do not wish for such things. The Circles were not a kind place for far too many. There is a reason why the mages rebelled.”

“I suppose,” she sighed, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “Papa tried to find his sister after the Circles fell. That’s why we came to the Conclave. He hoped she would be there and she could come home with us. But then…” Her face fell. “We never found Aunt Neria either.”

“Neria?” His breath caught in his throat. He swallowed. “You don’t mean, Neria Surana?”

“I think so,” she shrugged. “I don’t know about any Surana, but her name was Neria. Papa said everyone thought they were twins as kids.”

“And you,” Cullen ventured. “Do you look like your papa?”

“A bit. Mama said I had his crooked smile,” she showed off said smile, although hers was rather gap-toothed at present. “But her eyes and nose.”

Neria. He remembered the elf well enough. She and that other mage, Jowan, were always thick as thieves, both of them tearing through the halls, giggling like mad over some new prank they had pulled. But then Jowan had been revealed to be a blood mage. And Neria… It was a foolish infatuation. An infatuation that had resulted in a slow, agonizing death for her, as a demon tore her apart to use in Cullen’s own torment. If it had not been for his weakness, she might have been granted a cleaner death.

“Ser? Are you alright?”

Jerking his head up, Cullen realized he had been glaring down at his hands. Faced with Rilla’s knitted brow and pursed lips- _yes, she does have Neria’s smile. How did I miss that before?_ \- Cullen could only manage a half smile. “I’m fine, pup.” It would do no good to tell Rilla he knew her aunt, for how could he even begin to tell her of how she died? “It seems Liviana isn’t the only one of us with a lot on her mind.” Was Neria ever mistreated at the hands of a templar? If it had been Neria in Naella's place, would he still feel this torn over Liviana's judgement?

“It’s alright,” Rilla smiled. “Now, make sure you eat everything, okay, Commander? I want a clean plate when I come back for it.”

Cullen finally felt a genuine smile pull at his lips at the sight of her, her arms planted firmly on her hips, staring him down just as severely as Cassandra ever had. “As you wish, madam.”

***

Horses were one of the things he truly missed after he had been sent to the Circle. The steady gait rocking his body, the earthy scent of horseflesh and hay in his nostrils, the feel of wind ruffling through his hair- there was nothing else like it in the world. Max rather thought that being able to ride again was better than having his freedom. _I guess I am a Trevelyan, through and through._

“You’re looking remarkably well,” he heard Dorian comment from behind. “Despite the fact that we’ve left our cozy nook filled with wine and blankets for this desolate, frozen wasteland.”

“It’s only autumn. And the Hinterlands is hardly a desolate wasteland,” Blackwall gruffly muttered. “Unless you’re a spoiled brat.”

“I feel remarkably well,” Max cut in before the pair could begin arguing. Again. He understood why Liviana and Cassandra both insisted the warrior come with them, after all, three mages and an archer and a skittish spirit weren’t the best defense if they encountered templars along the way, but Max rather thought he would prefer being smited and skewered instead of listening to his friend and the faux Warden snipe at each other all day. “I think getting out of Skyhold was a good idea for me. Get some fresh air, a change of scenery.”

“Get your head out of those dusty books and that dark undercroft,” Varric added. “Sunshine. It’s good for you, Zephyr. So are you any closer to finding a solution?”

A shuttered sigh heaved at his chest. Glancing down at the sliver of skin that showed between the cuff of his glove and his sleeve, Max shook his head. “No. At this rate… I just might take Warden Howe’s offer and join the Wardens.”

“I would strongly advise against that,” Solas interjected. “The Wardens are hardly-”

“Would you rather he die?” Blackwall asked, a touch of incredulity in his voice. “At least joining the Wardens would be an honorable vocation.”

“Honorable,” Solas scoffed. “After everything they’ve done, honorable is not an adjective I would assign to them.”

“There are still-”

“For the love of all that is holy, stop,” Max groaned, letting his shoulders slump forward. “You’re all distressing Cole.” He pointed back at the spirit, who sat upon his own horse with wide eyes, wringing his hands to the point where Max was worried he might actually break his wrists and fingers. Or tear off his skin, at least. “And my head. You’re distressing my head.”

“Apologies, Maxwell.”

“Sorry.”

Nudging his horse forward, Dorian studied Max, his gaze taking in his increasingly gaunt figure, recognizing the stage and symptoms of the Blight with unwanted familiarity. “I would advise, if that is the path you wish to pursue, to do it soon,” Dorian murmured softly. “Otherwise…”

Otherwise it might be too late. Otherwise, his body might be too weak to fight any longer, too weak to hold his own in battle. Not to mention that Liviana had told him the Joining itself was sometimes fatal. If he was to have his best chances at surviving, it needed to be soon. He was torn.

One one hand, the idea of becoming one of the fabled Grey Wardens, heroes of the Blight, appealed more than he expected to his boyish nature, fulfilling the daydreams of his childhood. But reality was an entirely different matter. He would have to leave the Inquisition. Leave his friends, say goodbye to his sister for Maker knew how long. Spend his days combing all of Thedas for darkspawn, and when his tainted blood finally caught up with him, disappear to seek his death in the Deep Roads, surrounded by nugs and deepstalkers and spiders. But all of that could be borne. Except for one thing. One person. Cassandra.

For the first time since his magic had manifested, he had hope of a future, a family, of years of spending every day with one person and growing old with her. He loved her. More than reason. He loved the way she smiled shyly at him when she thought no one else was watching, adored the pinkish tinge her skin took when he flustered her and the way she punched him, then immediately apologized. He would have to say goodbye to her. Oh, not forever, he knew there would be occasions where he could still see her but a future? That was out of the question. _Of course, staying with her and withering away into a ghoul and dying a horrible death at her side isn’t on my list of things I want to do either. No matter what I choose, I lose her. But there’s not really an option here, is there? She doesn’t want me to die. She would want me to join the Wardens, even if it cut short our time together. And I want…_

_Dammit._

“Yeah,” Max nodded wearily. “I know.”

“As much as I’m not too fond of the Wardens, I think it’s for the best,” Varric offered. “Have you told Firefly yet?”

“I mentioned to her awhile back, when King Alistair was here. She didn’t seem to like or dislike it, if I recall. I think she was still hopeful that we’d find a cure. She’ll probably have a much different reaction if I go through with it,” Max sighed. “I think. Hard to tell, with her current state of mind.”

“Speaking of which, what is going on with her?” Varric glanced aside at him. “She’s been… off. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s almost like she’s acting like the person she was when she first arrived in Kirkwall, except more… something.”

“Serious,” Blackwall supplied. “Reminds me of when you were taken, Max.”

“Yes, but she’s not scared like she was back then,” Varric challenged. 

“There is still fear there,” Solas replied quietly. “A different sort of fear, and melancholy. She changed after she returned from the Hissing Wastes, did she not?”

“It was Naella,” Dorian replied. “She changed after she found Naella. Whatever it is, it has something to do with her past in Tevinter, I’m sure of it.”

“Chains pull at her skin, the whisper of rats and lightning. Crows, they’re everywhere now, tearing, ripping, shredding. Oh Maker, the screams, I can’t get her out of my mind. It should have been me, I should have- No. Soft, soft. Not me, new chains. Chains of silk and duty and gold and they need me. Not enough, never enough.”

“Cole?” Varric turned in his saddle to stare back at the boy. “Are you hearing her?”

“Yes,” the brim of the wide straw hat bobbed as Cole nodded. “She’s torn. She almost let him get away with it, but she found a way. Justice is the only way to honor her. The lion is not pleased.”

“Is that supposed to make any sense?” Blackwall shook his head. 

“Lion. The Commander?” Solas asked. Cole nodded again.

“So whatever it was, Cullen isn’t happy. So that might account for why she’s been distracted,” Max mused. 

Blackwall frowned to himself. “You should talk to her, Max. I know you’re both busy, but family is important. She’s important.”

“Yeah, I know,” picking at the stitching of his reins, Max chewed on his lip. “Do you have siblings, Blackwall?”

He jerked his chin down once. “Her name was Liddy.”

 _Was_. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too. Talk to your sister. Because you never know if- if…”

Nothing but the sound of hooves on packed dirt, dotted with the occasional scream of a hawk, marred the next several minutes as the group fell back into silence. He had been a terrible brother recently, had he? Too caught up with his research, and Cassandra, although to be fair, Liviana spent most of her free time with-

No, that wasn’t right. Liviana didn’t really get free time these days. All her waking hours in Skyhold were given to her work and reports, to meetings with nobility and merchants and mages and templars and the hordes of people that came to see her and pledge themselves to the Inquisition’s cause. What precious hours she had leftover from that were spent sleeping, or eating. He had asked her about it once, if she ever intended to slow down. She had just given him a wry smile and said, _No rest for the wicked, Maximillian. You know that_. He needed to step in, make her carve out time for herself. _Maybe Cullen can help. I know he’s been missing her as well. Because even though she’s back, it doesn’t really feel like she’s there._

“Your knife is big.”

“It’s called a sword, Cole,” Blackwall replied bemusedly.

Poking at the hilt of his dagger, Cole tilted his head to one side. “It’s bigger than mine.”

“...And now you’ve gone and made it awkward.”

Chuckling, Max turned his horse down the left fork of the trail. “I don’t know about that Cole. You should unsheathe yours and put it next to Blackwall’s so we can get a proper look.”

“Dorian. Why are you wondering if his sword is hairy?” 

“Cole! What have I said about keeping things to yourself?”

“But you want to know. Why is Varric laughing? Why would Sera be glad to not be here? Is it because she doesn’t use swords?”

“Come on, kid. I see Redcliffe’s gate just up ahead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of weighty musings, a little bit of levity. I've started grad school now, but I'm still tinkering on this as I get time. :)


End file.
